Intermission
by thepurpleeyedone
Summary: Summary: Drabble series set between episodes as a kind of intermission. (Hence, the name.) The first one is set between episode 6 and episode 7. Yuri has just put on his first perfect performance, and understandably, he's a little worn out and stressed. Victor, being the world's greatest coach, rises to the occasion by providing him with some... distractions.
1. Between Episode 6 and 7

_Author's Note: As you probably read in the summary, the first chapter is set between episode 6 and episode 7. Repeat: Yuri has just put on his first perfect performance, and understandably, he's a little worn out and stressed. Victor, being the world's greatest coach, rises to the occasion by providing him with some... distractions._

 _I hope you like it!_

All the performances of the day had wrapped up. Only about a fourth the arena was occupied at this point, and most of the remaining audience members were shuffling out leisurely. All the interviews were done, all the equipment had been packed away, and besides the gentle humming of an ice Zamboni smoothing out the etches on the ice, all was peaceful.

Yuri sat on a chair on the edge of the arena, mesmerized by the machine lethargically by methodically running over the ice. Everything was finally sinking in, and the pressure was beginning to steadily build. The only way he figured he could avoid falling to pieces was to thoroughly distract himself. He _could_ use his phone to go on to social media, but all anyone would be talking about would be the day's events. He _could_ call his family, but all they would want to discuss would be—you guessed it—the day's events.

So… Zamboni.

"Yuri~!"

Yuri blinked out of his stupor and stared up at Victor. He was looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

"The taxi I called is here." Hands on his hips, he flashed a very Victor smile. "Ready to go back to the hotel?"

"Yeah." What was he doing, letting this get to him? There was no point sitting here and wasting time, entertaining what-ifs. "Let's go."

Victor smiled again, but this time, less superficially. "Then, let's go."

"Okay."

Yuri went to get up, but a very real reality set in.

"Victor?"

Victor was already several meters away, having gotten a head start by already being on his feet. He turned at his name, hair swishing dramatically, and replied, "Yes?"

"I… I can't move."

Victor retraced his steps until he was directly in front of Yuri. "What?" he asked, but it was obvious he had heard him.

Yuri's expression washed over with embarrassment, and the heat rose to his face. "I can't move," he repeated. "Everything hurts." He winced as he made another attempt to remove himself from his seat. "Especially my legs."

Victor suddenly sobered in both expression and tone. "You didn't injure yourself, did you?"

The question caught Yuri completely off guard—but the way he said it even more so. "No, no, no!" he assured, waving his hands in front of him. "I'm fine— _fine_! I'm just sore is all."

The other man was serious for another beat, carefully examining Yuri top to bottom. His finger was balanced on his chin, as it often was when he was deeply concentrating. Yuri felt the stare intimately and reddened with renewed vigor.

After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity to Yuri, Victor finally seemed satisfied and visibly relaxed his shoulders. "That only seems natural after the performance you put on today. It was technically perfect."—which he meant in the most traditional of ways—"It makes sense then that you're more physically exerted than usual."

Yuri didn't have a reply—not right away anyway. What were you supposed to say to that? Instead, after a lull where Victor seemed to have no desire to superfluously fill the void in conversation, Yuri transitioned, "Then, what should we do?"

As if caught in the middle of a beautiful daydream, Victor recalled in a far-off voice, "Oh, right… The taxi…"

"Yes. The taxi." Not confident that Victor had fully absorbed his recent query, he repeated, "What should we do?"

Victor had already fully snapped back to attention. "Well, we can't just leave them out there, can we? And we need to get back to our hotel." His gaze was in the direction of the cab in question—out beyond the wall of the arena.

Yuri studied his profile. "Then…?"

"Hmm? 'Then'?" Victor stared at him as though the answer was blatantly obvious. But instead of explaining himself, he closed the gap between them and slid his arms under Yuri—one cradling his legs and the other supporting his lower back—and lifted him out of the seat completely.

"なん—!"* Yuri slipped back into his native tongue in surprise. Suddenly, all he could see was Victor's exquisite suit. Disoriented, he gazed up a little higher and caught sight of his coach's neck. He followed that line of sight slowly until he spied Victor's expression, where he discovered that Victor was quite entertained with Yuri's reaction.

Before Yuri could question him, Victor started for the exit, briefly explaining as he strode, "This is the fastest way. I'll just carry you to the taxi."

Being slightly jostled, Yuri squirmed and protested, "I'm not sure this the best way." He buried his head into Victor's suit jacket. "Besides, it's embarrassing," he muttered into the clothing. It smelled vaguely of cologne and last night's Chinese food. "What if someone sees us?"

Victor, evidently, didn't hear this as he continued towards the exit as if he was on a sacred mission. Once in front of the door, he pushed it open with his hip, being excruciatingly careful not to crush Yuri's legs in between, and treaded out into the crisp night.

Even though it was late in the evening in October, Yuri had never felt more like it was high noon in July. His whole body burned with shame—or was it something else? No, no, definitely shame. What if people saw them? Between Phitchit's Instagram photos and Victor regularly playing to the press, there was already enough speculation going around. Sure, Yuri had reveled in it earlier that day for the sake of his performance, but half of it had been adrenaline and the other half… something Yuri had yet to understand himself.

The ice skater didn't dare look up. He kept his head tucked into Victor's jacket—which wasn't entirely unpleasant, but Yuri didn't want to think about that now. He strained his ears to catch the sounds of reporters taking pictures, people gossiping, and anything else that could further humiliate him. But all he heard was Victor's recurrent footsteps on one side, and on the other, his vigorous heartbeat. Or… Was that actually Yuri's own heartbeat that was drumming in his ears? He couldn't distinguish one from the other.

Before he could speculate on that further, he was gently placed down in the backseat of the taxi. He almost whined at the sudden departure but caught himself just in time.

Victor circled around the vehicle and took a seat on the other side. He told the cab driver the name of the hotel, and they abruptly jolted into motion.

Yuri wanted to talk along the way, but he also didn't want to disrupt the comfortable silence.

Between the relaxed atmosphere and the gentle rocking of the car and the events of the day, Yuri found himself resting his eyes while leaning on the cool window of the taxi. He didn't allow himself to fully fall asleep but instead teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, knowing too well he'd have to be awake shortly to get things ready for tomorrow.

Sure enough, they pulled in front of the hotel moments later.

"Yuri, can you walk up to the room?"

The question caught Yuri off guard. He felt immeasurably better compared to before, but instead of simply telling Victor that he could now manage, the words that ended up coming out of his mouth were: "No, I don't think so."

Victor smiled, but now Yuri felt guilty. Before, it had been the truth, but now, it was a lie. A little white lie… but a lie nonetheless. He could easily correct the facts—tell Victor he misspoke and move on—but something kept him quiet.

"Okay then. I'll send the luggage up and be back in a second." Victor stepped out of the car and retrieved the duffle bags of equipment from the trunk, walking into the lobby to deliver them to the hotel staff.

While Yuri waited anxiously for his coach to return, his mind berated him: _You idiot! Just tell him your fine now. It's bad enough that he had to carry you out of the arena! Why didn't you just tell him the truth anyway? Just tell Victor—_

"Ready?"

"Huh?"

Before his mind had time to register it, Yuri was once again in Victor's arms. When had he opened the door?

The taxi drove away into the night, and the two were left all alone in front of the garishly lit hotel entrance. They hadn't moved an inch yet, and Yuri thought this was the perfect chance to set the record straight.

"Um… Victor?" Yuri started. He watched Victor gradually direct his gaze down onto him. Something about his eyes betrayed his emotions, but Yuri couldn't put a finger on exactly what emotions were being currently being betrayed. He looked very soft and loving with the lighting behind him, but Yuri thought that couldn't be right. He tried to force out his explanation, but it never came. The words drowned in the deep blue of Victor's eyes.

"Yes?" Victor baited after a moment, realizing Yuri wasn't in a hurry to finish his inquiry.

Yuri seemed startled to Victor, which puzzled him. "Oh… It's nothing. Never mind."

Victor was deeply skeptical, not wanting to accept this as a final answer, but he decided not to press further. "Then, let's go." With that, he turned around and headed into the lobby.

It suddenly occurred to Yuri that he was once again in this compromising position. He lowered his head, remembering too late that all of the ice skaters stayed at the same hotel and that the probability of one seeing him like this was disturbingly high.

Again, he kept an ear out for anything suspicious, prepared to deny everything and immediately engage damage control mode, but once again, no such event happened.

Within a minute, Victor had entered the elevator and tapped their floor number, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the world as the doors slid closed.

"Doing okay?" he inquired, but it was almost entirely a joke based on his playful expression. He shifted Yuri in his arms, probably feeling a bit sore himself from carrying his student around all evening, but not tired enough to not let his hands wander…

Yuri squeaked. "J-just fine, thank you!" He wanted to ask whether the fondling had been accidental or not, but he was terrified of the answer.

Victor chuckled, and Yuri's face colored for what had to be the millionth time that day. He could feel Victor's reverberations due to their close proximity, which only made his blush worsen. Not finding the appropriate words, Yuri ended up nestling into Victor more in a futile attempt to hide his face. Victor misread this and reciprocated by lightly running his fingers appreciatively on Yuri's upper thigh.

That didn't exactly deescalate the situation.

Before things could get anymore complicated, the elevator doors opened at last, and Victor made his way down the hall to their rooms.

They had joint rooms—two rooms next to each other that could be opened in the middle freely.

Victor struggled to take his room key out of his pocket while still supporting Yuri's weight. He did manage it though, but actually opening the door would prove to be trickier.

"Hold on, Yuri," Victor instructed, gesturing to his neck by lightly tilting his head.

Yuri got the message, and without much thought, reached up to wrap his arms tightly around his coach. To his horror—or perhaps pleasure—Yuri's head tucked securely into Victor's neck, and his lips, in turn, were pressed directly onto the man's pulse.

But Victor didn't have time to think about that.

Now, with the bulk of Yuri's weight being supported by the young man himself, he nearly effortlessly swiped the card key, allowing the door to swing open.

"We're home~!" Victor teased, but Yuri was having a hard time paying attention. Even so, he didn't take Yuri's silence as offense and sauntered into the room, closing the door behind them.

Within the next moment, Yuri was carefully deposited on his bed, Victor disappearing around the corner immediately after the fact.

That's when Yuri heard the water running.

Immediately, all kinds of images flooded Yuri's mind.

"Since your muscles are sore, I'm going to run you a bath!" Victor called from the bathroom, his voice echoing somewhat over the tile. "Just wait there, okay?"

Yuri wondered for a moment if Victor was being cheeky, seeing how the other was under the impression that he could hardly move at all, but somehow, Yuri couldn't imagine even for a second that Victor could be anything less than one hundred percent genuine.

With that thought banished from his mind, the younger man opened his mouth to protest, but he could manage a single utterance. It's like he had lost the entirety of the English language within an instant, draining entirely from his mind like lucid water melted from previously well formed ice. He flopped onto the bed with a melodramatic thump, muttering, "くそ"* into the mattress.

Could things get anymore embarrassing?

"Yuri~! I'm going to come undress you!"

Suddenly, Yuri had the words again. The water had frozen back into ice.

"Wait, I'm fine now!" He sprung up from the bed, limping across the room with renewed motivation pushing his aching muscles into action. Even so, he mumbled "テテテ"* with each step under his breath as he made it to the bathroom.

Victor turned from the bath to face him. "Clearly not," he deduced. He didn't have to say anything more. It was obvious from Yuri's gimpy walk and his pained expression and Japanese griping that he was not, as Yuri had said himself "fine now."

Yuri refused to meet his gaze. "I can handle this part, okay?" It was a very uncertain sentence said in a very certain way.

Victor studied him. "All right," he agreed—though it was never truly a question. Without another word, he strode out of the bathroom, presumably to go prepare things for tomorrow.

Yuri sighed to no one in particular. Why did he feel so bad all of the sudden?

 _It's because you snapped at him for helping you, idiot._

Yeah… That was probably it.

Whatever the case—and that was most certainly the case—Yuri decided he'd apologize after the bath. He stripped off his jacket, then the shirt, then the pants, and well… the rest. They laid in a heap on the floor, but Yuri supposed he could collect them later.

No matter how "fine" he was, he was indeed still sore, and he wondered bitterly if Victor would consider coming back and helping him before both his pride and his shame came to squash that idea.

He stepped into the bath and sunk into warm water until it engulfed him all the way up to his chin.

 _Ah… How relaxing._

"Yuri~! I'm back!"

Yuri floundered a bit in the water, taken by surprise. He looked up to meet the exceedingly kind face of his coach.

"Wh-wh-why are you back?" Yuri sputtered, curling himself up under the water as tight as he could.

Victor blinked innocently at him. "What do you mean? I thought this is what we agreed to." He got down on his knees beside the bath so he was level with Yuri's sightline. "You said you could handle the last part. But I'm here for the next part!"

"'Next part'?" Yuri was afraid to ask. His mind didn't need any help conjuring ideas.

Victor nodded. "I'll help you wash up now." He considered something for a moment, and then his expression visibly brightened. "Oh, I know! I'll join you! This bath is big enough for the both of us. Then, it'll be much easier to help you."

Yuri barely had a second of time to look away while Victor threw off all his clothes—he was efficient at that after all, considering the incident at the restaurant the other night—and stepped into the bath, completely submerging himself and reappearing at the surface with soap in hand.

"Hand me your arm, Yuri," he gently directed, holding out his hand.

Yuri stared at the hand, weighing his increasingly limited options. Well… He was already here and offering, so he couldn't see what he had to lose.

He placed his hand gingerly in Victor's.

Victor immediately went to work running the soap over him, drawing careful circles on his skin and leaving snowflake-like residue. He was being very methodical about it and—Yuri thought—purposefully deliberate.

As he made his way up Yuri's arm to his shoulder blade, the familiar blushing sensation begin to creep in.

 _Why am I so flustered by this?_ he wondered absentmindedly, mesmerized by Victor's motions. _We did something similar to this every day in the hot springs. But somehow, that was different._ He thought about the apparent differences. _Well, for one thing, that was public. But here, we're alone._ He then considered the short amount of distance between them. Their legs were almost overlapping. The blush intensified. _And very close._

"Is it too hot?"

"What?" Yuri jumped, his hand slipping out of Victor's grasp and plummeting into the water.

Victor knew he'd heard him, but he repeated regardless, "The water. Is it too hot?"

"Not at all," Yuri insisted. To corroborate his statement, he added, "It's perfect, actually," hoping that would quell Victor's concern.

Victor reached up and tucked his long, wet bangs behind his ear. "I'm glad. Now, give me your other arm."

"Oh… Right." Yuri did as he was told.

When Victor was done with that arm, he abruptly reached for one of Yuri's legs under the water. Yuri had to slam his hands down on the bottom of the tub in order to not be capsized completely, as he was suddenly off-balance with one of his legs being held captive by Victor's grip.

This time, Victor's meticulous work wasn't so pleasant.

Yuri couldn't hold back a wince.

"Sorry. It's sore, right?" Victor surmised. He placed the soap down and leaned back against the opposite side of the bath, still keeping Yuri's leg firmly in grasp.

"What are you—?"

The question didn't matter. In fact, nothing mattered. Because Victor had began messaging his foot.

A positively orgasmic moan escaped Yuri's lips.

"о боже мой."*

From either the moan or the accidental Russian or a combination of the two, Victor began to laugh. He looked like he was trying really hard not to—supposedly trying to spare the younger man's feelings—but he couldn't contain it.

Yuri wished the earth could swallow him up right then and there.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Victor was still laughing—on the verge of crying even—but his tone was sincere. "Here, give me your leg again. I'll finish the message if you want." He lowered his eyelids suggestively. "You seemed to like it."

Yuri was—quite literally—putting his foot down. "No, thankyou," he managed to force out through layers of humiliation. "I've already had quite enough."

Victor's mouth was betraying him, threatening to break out into bout of laughter, but he cleared his throat, recognizing that Yuri wouldn't appreciate it. "Well then," he transitioned, "at least turn around so I can get your hair."

This suggestion bode well with Yuri, as that meant he wouldn't have to face Victor for a while.

He did as instructed, tilting his head back a little to allow Victor easier access. Within a moment, Victor's fingers were combing through his hair, froth from the shampoo dipping gradually down his neck and back.

When Victor was done with the back, he inched closer to Yuri to reach the front.

The distance between them abruptly vanished.

Before Yuri could address this new sensation, Victor cut in with possibly the only thing that could undermine the moment:

"You know, I was very proud of you today, Yuri."

"O-oh? You were?" His voice was very shrill, but he balled his fists, trying to fight the exceedingly mounting urge to either to flee the scene or beg Victor to ravish him. "Why?"

Victor stopped sharply, his hands left tangled in Yuri's hair, motionless. "'Why'?" he repeated. "Isn't it obvious? You have discovered your true potential as a skater, and thus, it has provided you with incredible results."

"Oh… Right." With everything that had happened that afternoon, he'd almost forgotten.

To Yuri's great relief, Victor resumed. "'Why,' he asks," the Russian muttered as he finished shampooing the other's hair. This time, it was Yuri's turn to laugh a little.

"Look, I just wasn't thinking about it," Yuri tried to excuse away, looking down at his reflection in the bath water.

"Hmm, that's strange," Victor murmured, gently pouring water over Yuri's head. "I was under the impression that you have a problem with pressure and often let it get to you during competitions."

Yuri was instantly defensive. "I do! Well… I did. You've just been…" He searched for the appropriate word. "… _distracting_ me today."

Victor perked curiously at that. He didn't say anything though, standing up without any warning and retrieving a towel for himself. Clearly contemplating the implications of what his student had said, he distractedly handed Yuri a towel as well. Yuri took it but stared apprehensively at Victor as he did, wondering what he could be concocting in that head of his.

The two departed the bathroom together.

"I've got it!" Victor interjected suddenly, making the other jolt.

"Got what?" Yuri inquired, raising an eyebrow at him. He was always at a loss regarding the complex interworkings of Victor's mind.

Victor grinned at him. "You said that you weren't thinking about the competition because I distracted you." Yes, Yuri was following the logic thus far. "So, if I distract you even further, you won't let any of the pressure get to you tomorrow!"

Yuri understood, but he didn't get it. He knew what Victor was going for, but he didn't have the faintest idea what he was planning.

Luckily, he didn't have to speculate much longer.

In one smooth maneuver, Victor swept Yuri off balance, leaning him back but supporting him with a hand behind his back, and pressed his lips to Yuri's.

Everything went blank.

For the faintest of moments, Victor deepened the kiss. Yuri reciprocated eagerly, desperate to make it last. But the second he felt his affections being returned, Victor consciously pulled away, garnering an indistinct whimper from Yuri.

"Well, see you tomorrow!" Victor called behind him elatedly, closing the door that connected their rooms with purposeful meaning. The sound of the lock followed, the noise resonating throughout the room.

Yuri stared, wide-eyed and agape at the exact spot that Victor had occupied only mere seconds ago. Once the experience processed properly in his brain, he threw himself onto the bed, ignoring the strain of his muscles.

Well, if there was one thing for sure, Yuri thought as he stared up at the hotel ceiling, it was that, now, he had plenty of distraction.

 _Author's Note:_

 _*1: The beginning of "nani"—"what" in Japanese._  
 _*2: "Kuso"—"damn/shit" equivalent in Japanese._  
 _*3: "tetete"—"ow, ow, ow" equivalent in Japanese._  
 _*4: "Oh my god" in Russian._

 _That took awhile to write... But it was so worth it! I hope you enjoyed it, and please review if you can! Maybe I'll continue this in future weeks between episodes... Who knows?_


	2. Between Episode 7 and 8

_Author's Notes: This frickin' chapter took forever. I drafted it out with my friend nearly three weeks ago, and then I got sick, and then I had seven million tests, and now it's finals week-!_

 _Anyway, this chapter takes place between episode seven and episode eight (so the time right before the cup in Moscow.)_

 _By the way, I consider Yuri and Victor dating as of the kiss scene at the end of episode seven._

 _Please enjoy._

"Say it with me." Victor's tone was firm, but at the same time, infinitely kind. "Добрый вечер.* Do-bre ve-cher."

Yuri stared intensely at Victor's lips as the other carefully enunciated the words. "Doe-bre-be-chaa," he mimicked. He could tell he was off somehow; it sounded painfully amateur to his ears. His tendency to revert back to Japanese was clearly getting in the way. Why did Russian have to have so many v-sounds anyway? And r's at the end?

Yuri was proficient in English—even going so far as to consider himself fluent—but he could never fully escape his accent. Even after all that time training in Detroit, he still had to force himself to concentrate when it came to fighting what seemed to be innate vocal quirks carried on from his first language.

Even in Russian, it was no different.

Yuri was vaguely aware that the plane was touching down in Moscow as Victor sounded out the word for what must have been the tenth time. Since the plane had taken off, his coach had been busy giving him what must have been the world's briefest and most rapid rundown on the basics of Russian.

The had covered greetings, goodbyes, numbers, colors, and a couple other key phrases. It still left Yuri painfully unprepared to navigate the country, but it was better than nothing.

 _Why is this bothering me so much?_ Yuri wondered as he felt the heat rise to his face as he flubbed the pronunciation yet again. _I didn't mind it that much when I couldn't pronounce most Chinese back in Beijing._

But Yuri knew exactly why.

It was because it was Victor's language.

"Yuri, we should probably go. Everyone is getting off the plane."

"Oh." Yuri studied the other passengers as they collected their luggage from the overhead compartments. "You're right."

"I'll get it," Victor offered, rising from his aisle seat to retrieve his and Yuri's bags.

"Спасибо,"* Yuri recounted, seizing on the opportunity to earn back a bit of his pride.

"Perfect, Yuri!" Victor praised as he took down a duffle bags full of skating equipment. "You'll be fluent in no time!"

"Hilarious," Yuri quipped in a sarcastic monotone despite knowing full well there had been no malice in the other's words.

The two departed from the plane and immediately made their way over to customs. Yuri always hated this part—having to answer a lengthy and tedious series of questions about his intent for being in the country. China had been a nightmare. But this time, Yuri thought, it would probably be easier because Victor knew the language the airport employees would be speaking.

"привет,"* Yuri managed to say as he handed his passport over to the customs agent.

This turned out to be misstep, however, as the man behind the counter mistook this as an admission of Russian competency and immediately engaged with him in hurried, complicated Russian.

"Uh." Yuri swallowed, buying a moment of time to allow his brain to transition into English in order to respond. "That was basically all the Russian I knew. Sorry."

"Don't worry, Yuri," Victor assured him in English. "I'll take it from here."

He leaned on the counter, and supposedly, cleared up the situation in Russian. Yuri didn't really know. He had lost track of what Victor was saying by the first word, and everything afterwards sounded like a jumbled mess to him.

And yet, he was entranced.

Victor sounded different when he spoke in Russian. He was still clearly very Victor as he answered the customs agent in a cool, confident and yet somehow playful tone, but his voice was subtly huskier. He also spoke much faster than he did in English—obviously more comfortable using his native tongue.

Yuri wondered briefly if Victor had ever thought anything along those lines about him when they had been back in Japan. Did his voice sound noticeably different in Japanese? Did Victor like it? He hoped Victor liked it.

Whoa, where did that come from?

"Yuri?"

"はい!* I—I mean, yes! What is it?" Damn language barriers. They were especially annoying today.

"He wants to see another form of ID," Victor explained, pointing at the employee who was staring at him impatiently.

"Oh, sure. Of course." Yuri dug through his bag for his wallet and deposited his JSF skating ID onto the counter. The agent scrutinized it with his eyes and then looked up at Yuri to compare. Yuri couldn't decide where to look. Was it culturally appropriate to look away or make eye contact? Every fiber of his being wanted to study the floor tiles, but he recalled Victor's nature and committed himself to staring straight ahead.

The airport employee seemed satisfied with this and pushed both the skater's ID and passport across the counter, signaling Yuri to take them back. He then said a short burst of a sentence—more like an order—which Yuri didn't have to know Russian to understand meant they were dismissed.

A moment later, they were in front of the luggage carousel, waiting for their checked suitcases.

"I'm curious about something," Victor announced as the bags started to make their way out. He was in no rush to ask straight out though, as he clearly paused to give Yuri chance to consent to his inquiry.

"If you're going to ask me if I understood any Russian back there, I'm sorry, but I didn't. Not a word." It sounded even worse said out loud, and suddenly, he felt the need to justify himself. "You were talking fast, okay? I'm not a genius who can just pick this stuff up, you know?"

Victor laughed, and Yuri felt that the awkwardness he was feeling must have been exceedingly plain on his face. "That's not what I was going to ask," Victor assured. He took another meaningful pause. "Your ID," he finally settled on.

"My ID?" Well, this was unexpected. "What about it?"

"It was from the JSF, right?"

"Yes?" It wasn't a question, but it was so obvious, Yuri was left confused. "That's the only skating foundation I belong to."

Victor shook his head. "You're missing my point. What I'm curious about is, why your skating ID? Why didn't you just give the agent your driver's license?"

And there it was.

Now, Yuri was _wishing_ they could revert back to their conversation on his lackluster Russian skills.

"I… don't have a driver's license."

Victor blinked at him and then cracked a smile when he realized Yuri wasn't joking. "What? Really?"

"Look, it's very common in Japan," Yuri defended vehemently, feeling more shame rushing to his face. "There are trains everywhere, and it's more common for people to bike or walk. It wasn't necessary for me to get one. And then, when I went to America, they drove on the other side of the road, so I didn't want anything to do with that. I just—I just never learned, okay? Stop laughing, Victor!"

"I'm sorry," Victor supplied weakly through his laughter. "There's no need for you to be so defensive. Your explanation makes perfect sense."

Even with him saying that, it didn't make Yuri feel a whole lot better.

"Let's change the subject," Victor suggested, and as if the universe had heard him, their bags appeared on the conveyor belt. "What do you want to do after this?" he inquired as he plucked the suitcases off the platform.

"Good question," Yuri mulled, jumping at the chance to talk about something else. He leaned on his hand inquisitively.

"If it's all the same to you," Victor suggested with a mischievous raising of the eyebrow, "I have a place in mind that I've been wanting to take you to."

Despite the suspicious gesture, Yuri was instantly curious. "Where exactly?" he questioned, following Victor towards the airport exit.

Victor held a finger to his own lips. "It's a secret. Let's just say there's a present waiting." He reached out and caressed Yuri's cheek, lowering his voice suggestively. "Or maybe a few, if you're interested."

A shiver ran down Yuri's spine. Well, now he just _had_ to go.

"Okay," he agreed, but he noted that he sounded just a bit too eager. He immediately transitioned into a more appropriate tone, clarifying, "Just… nothing out of my comfort zone, please. We haven't been together that long yet… I want to take things slow."

Victor removed his hand and chuckled. "Don't worry. It's entirely innocent." Once again, his voice dropped a few octaves. "But what were you imagining, Yuri?"

Yuri laughed shrilly. "Nothing! Nothing at all!"

The other smirked like he had somehow read Yuri's mind and already knew the answer. "Well, if it's nothing…" he dropped tactfully, "… then we'll go with my idea."

"Right. Good. Got it," Yuri replied stiffly.

Before long, they were in a taxi, headed for whatever location Victor had told the driver. He didn't even have to whisper it to keep it a surprise; in fact, he announced it quite proudly, knowing full well Yuri couldn't understand a word of the Russian. That kind of pissed him off, but since the location was presumably a present for Yuri, he couldn't stay mad at Victor for more than a fleeting moment.

The taxi raked to a halt at shopping square downtown—downtown Moscow, if Yuri had to guess, considering they hadn't gone that far. Victor led him out onto the sidewalk, and the car drove off abruptly.

Yuri scanned the buildings and crowds. "Where are we?" he asked, a bit of nervousness seeping into his tone. His eyes darted every which way. Everything was foreign; he couldn't read a single sign or understand a single conversation. Once again, he suddenly had great respect for how Victor probably felt back in Japan.

Victor caught on to his unintentional verbal cue and grasped his hand. Yuri expected Victor to be gentle—perhaps run his thumb over the back of his hand like he sometimes did—but incidentally, Victor thought the best course of action in this situation was to pull on his hand like an excitable child.

"Come on, Yuri~!" Victor encouraged. "You won't have to think about anything else once we're there."

As much as Yuri was expecting (perhaps hoping) Victor would use another method to cheer him up, the distraction was not entirely unwelcome.

Victor started to run ahead, but Yuri called, "The bags!" and Victor made a U-turn to retrieve his luggage, mumbling apologies. He piled everything that wasn't on wheels into Yuri's arms and made a second attempt—this time, with Yuri in tow.

It was just around the corner. Yuri could barely see as the luggage was obscuring his vision, but he knew they had made it when a chime sounded and they walked onto plush carpet. Yuri turned to take in the view and finally figure out what the surprise was.

Every bag Yuri was holding fell to the ground in an avalanche as he gasped.

It was a costume shop—and a very fancy on at that. There were so many sequins and sparkles that Yuri had a hard time looking directly at anything, but there was no mistaking it. Just taking a glance, he could see formal suits, ballroom dresses, ballet outfits, and—yes, they had them!—ice skating costumes.

The shop itself was a deep auburn red where you could actually see the walls between pieces, and an elegant chandelier hung from the middle, reflecting little rainbow patterns every few feet on the rich carpet.

"This is where they made all my costumes for my performances," Victor explained. Despite referring to the store, his gaze was only on Yuri, wholly savoring the surprise and wonder on the man's face. "Well, not here exactly. I usually went to the one in St. Petersburg, but it's the same place—just a different location."

"It's beautiful," Yuri marveled, eyes still soaking in the sight. He suddenly blinked out of his stupor, just barely managing to tear his eyes away from the majesty, and questioned, "Why did you bring me here?"

Victor chuckled. "Isn't it obvious? I thought we could get you fitted for a costume." He gestured at the luggage Yuri had dropped previously, vaguely referring to Yuri's skating outfits. "You're wearing my old costumes—which is great, don't get me wrong—but you deserve to have at least one of your own."

Yuri inhaled sharply, body immediately going stiff. His own costume? From _here_? How much would it cost? Did he even deserve it? What if—?

Victor seemingly read his mind. Before the other could entertain any more fantastical fantasies, he lifted his hands to Yuri's face, framing his expression. "Yuuuri~! It's a present!" Victor practically whined. "Stop thinking. Let me do this for you."

Yuri's cheeks colored, mind going blank. After a moment of hesitation, he turned slightly, muttering into Victor's gloved hand, "But I don't need a new costume…"

"Not right now," Victor admitted. "But what about later—you might enter the grand prix next year too, you know? You've still got time. And besides, I want you to have one costume that is completely your own—if for no other reason that you've earned it."

Yuri had gone quiet, and Victor was taking that as a good sign. Slowly, he removed his hands from Yuri's face. "Please," Victor said softly. "I want to."

After approximately an eternity for Victor (five seconds for Yuri), the younger man heaved a surrendering sigh. "Fine. But only because you want to."

"I want to!" Victor confirmed, looking more thrilled with the idea by the moment. "Wait right there. I'm going to talk to the clerk and see if the tailor is here."

Without waiting for a response, Victor dashed off towards the counter adjacent with the side of the store, speaking frantic Russian to get the shopkeeper's attention as he did. It was as though he was fully expecting Yuri to change his mind at any given moment.

He didn't have to worry though. Yuri was going to do no such thing. Secretly, he was looking forward to it. While he couldn't say he was entirely all right with the idea of Victor spending exorbitant amounts of money on him, the dominate sensation that was overwhelming all others was pure ecstasy.

It'd been two years since Yuri had a costume of his own—and even then, they were tailored to fit him and then immediately returned upon fulfilling their purpose. They were expensive, and to only wear them for a season and then never again, letting them gather dust in the back of his closet, felt like a waste of money that he could be putting towards more important things like equipment and lessons.

He knew most skaters kept their costumes—especially those that were certified as top class in their country. Victor certainly did. But he could never quite justify it in his mind. It felt like too much of burden—living up to those extravagant outfits.

And yet, here he was, allowing Victor to spoil him.

"Their tailor is out."

Yuri shook himself from his thoughts. "Huh?"

"Their tailor. He's out." Despite the news, Victor still looked to be in good spirits, so Yuri didn't doubt he had a plan B at the ready. "But that's okay!"—as he suspected—"Because they still have lots of costumes. We can just have you try on a bunch and see what you like. We'll leave the best one and your measurements with the store and have them ship it to us later."

It sounded reasonable enough. Yuri nodded, seeing as Victor was still waiting for the go-ahead.

Victor smiled. It wasn't at all like anything in Victor's countless publicity photos. Those smiles were wide and designed to enchant, to charm, to show off his beautiful features from the best angle. This one was small but warm—like an inside joke exchanged between lovers as they passed by each other in a narrow corridor.

"Then, let's go."

"Yeah."

Yuri took Victor's hand.

Victor was determined to get straight to work. He led Yuri into a dressing room. It was just as lavish as the rest of the store, surrounded in thick red curtain that flowed dramatically from ceiling to floor. Allowed to venture past the extravagant barrier, he saw that the clerk had already accumulated an extensive collection of costumes, hanging neatly on every hook and folded meticulously on every flat surface.

Truth be told, it was a lot to take in. It was all for him. Well, clearly, not all. But one. One somewhere in there was just for him. Yuri just had to find it.

Suddenly, Yuri felt very daring.

"So then, where do I start?"

"Well—" Victor bridged the albeit small gap between them and tugged at Yuri's collar. "—first, you have to get undressed—"

Yuri reached up and swatted Victor's hand away, managing to surprise the other enough to garner a noticeable jump. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked darkly, a hint of something smoky in his eyes and tone.

Victor blinked at him, expressionless. Finally, he lips flickered into something resembling a teasing smile, but the rest of his face wasn't committed. "Is this a trick question?"

Yuri shifted. "You surprised me, now I'm going to surprise you." He placed his hand flat on Victor's chest, and in one smooth motion, flicked Victor far enough away that he would now be on the other side of the curtain if it had been draped over at that moment. "You stay out there. It'll be twice as fun if you don't know what's coming."

Victor was still staggering, recovering from being knocked off-balance. But even if he had been perfectly stable, that statement alone might have been enough to send him flying towards the ground in shock.

"Yuri…"

The other turned his back on him, throwing back an alluring but at the same time equally threatening glare behind him. "Don't you dare peek."

And with that, he drew the curtain.

Yuri's heart was beating a million miles per second, his mind berating him: _Oh, god. Was that okay? I hope it wasn't too mean. That was so embarrassing. I shouldn't have done that. What have I done?_

Meanwhile, Victor had never been so thoroughly dismissed and turned on at the same time.

Where had his Yuri gone? Who was this new Yuri?

But no, they were one and the same. He knew that. Victor saw it happen every eros performance—this fantastic transformation of Yuri's. It wasn't just acting; it was self-acceptance. It was the embracing of a side that Yuri never knew existed—a side that was only growing braver by the day.

Victor sat down on the richly adorned sofa across from the dressing room.

"I'm waiting, Yuri~!" he called in a deliberately flirty manner. As much as he was enjoying the situation, he wanted to switch the dynamic back to what it usually was—see what lengths Yuri would go to invert it again.

Yuri shivered from behind the barrier. Part of it was from being partially undressed as he pulled on the first costume of many he was going to try. The other part was because of Victor.

Okay, most of it was because of Victor.

Leaned forward, fingers pressed together, Victor studied the curtain in deep thought. That thin layer between them was growing more tantalizing by the second. Which Yuri would pull it back? Was his previous comment enough to bring back typical Yuri? He wasn't confident. Perhaps, he should have made more of an attempt. Then again, it could have been just enough. Only time would tell.

Somehow, the uncertainty made him even more excited. He didn't want to think ahead any more than he already had. The ambiguity of their positions was a shock to his system in all the best ways.

Victor was forcibly pulled out of his thoughts as the sound of metallic rings clacking together signaled Yuri's return.

If Victor had been looking at Yuri's flustered expression, he would have been able to tell right away that Yuri, master of eros, had gone back into hiding for the time being.

But then again, he wasn't looking at all at his face.

"It's too gaudy, isn't it?" Yuri muttered.

The first costume was lilac and feminine in style. It had a deep V at the neckline and lily white frills at the hips. It wasn't anything too shocking compared to some of his colleagues' usual style of dress, but it was was definitely stepping right up to the line in terms of Yuri's sensibilities.

Victor certainly wasn't complaining. But he also knew not to push Yuri too far too fast.

"You're clearly not comfortable with it," Victor observed. "Try another. There's no pressure. We have all day."

There wasn't a right answer, but that was definitely the closest you could get to one. Yuri nodded and stepped back inside the room, determined to find something a little more him.

The next few he tried were more typical of him—deep blues and overall more masculine. Yuri liked them, but he had already had costumes like these. If he was going to keep one to be reflective of his entire skating career, he wanted it to be special—something intrinsically him, but something akin to Victor as well.

Finally, he found something promising.

Out a pile on the shelf of the dressing room, he spied something very familiar. He pulled it out from between the other outfits, and it suddenly hit him why.

It was the outfit Victor skated in last year's Grand Prix when he won his fifth consecutive gold medal.

Well, almost. The colors had been inverted. Where Victor's had pink, this one had blue. Instead of gold trim, it was silver.

Yuri turned it in his hands, considering. It was surprisingly light material—with the metal accent on the left shoulder being the only particularly heavy part of the piece. It did lightly disrupt the weight distribution, which meant he would have to over-accommodate his balance to the right side if he skated in it. Victor had done it though, so he was confident he could as well.

Regardless, he was dying to try it on.

"Yuuuri… It's been awhile," Victor whined from the other side of the curtain.

"It'll be worth the wait!" Yuri called back as slipped the top part over his head.

At last, the curtain parted, and Victor's eyes went wide.

It was his costume. Well, it wasn't really—it different in the details, but for all intents and purposes, it was his costume. Victor took a moment to appreciate it on Yuri; even though it wasn't fitted properly, it looked surprisingly good on him. The pants appeared to be made for Yuri, hugging his slender legs just right. But then, his eyes ventured further up.

He pushed himself up from the couch, chuckling lightly as he made his way over to Yuri. "You put the clasps on wrong," Victor tisked playfully, undoing them and replacing them properly.

"Sorry," Yuri mumbled, looking away awkwardly as he tried to ignore the effect Victor's fingers had on him. "You were being so impatient. I did it in a hurry."

"Clearly." Victor went further, straightening out Yuri's disheveled collar—possibly just to make a point.

"So…" Yuri couldn't meet his gaze—especially when he was still so close and his fingers were still all over his chest and neck. "… What do you think?"

Prompted, Victor removed his hands and stepped back to consider the whole outfit. He was judging it like he usually did with Yuri's skating, finger balanced on his lower lip, eyes storming in concentration.

He was considering his next move. It was gorgeous on Yuri, but he didn't want to influence his decision. It was Yuri's present—not his. He wanted to make that clear while simultaneously voicing his opinion.

Finally, Victor settled with: "I love it, Yuri, but I thought the whole point of coming here was to get you a costume that wasn't mine."

It was a fair point. If Yuri had thought it through, maybe he would have fought against his initial reaction and gone on to fancy another.

But at the moment, he was working off instinct and pure emotion, and that showed as he opened his mouth:

"But I love your costumes, Victor! And I love you!"

That wasn't what Victor expected.

"Uh-uh-uh, what I mean is—!" Yuri clarified frantically, "It'll remind me of all my good times with you. You were the best parts of my skating career—even before we actually met! I want my costume to reflect that." Yuri was talking too loud, but he couldn't help it. All the blood had rushed to his face. In his head, he had meant every word, but hearing it aloud was a completely and fundamentally different experience.

This time, it was Victor's turn.

He pushed Yuri back into the dressing room and drew the curtain around them. Yuri dully felt his back hit the wall, but the sensation was suddenly replaced with Victor's tongue brushing his lips. It was abrasive but not forceful, allowing Yuri the chance to escape it if he wanted to.

He didn't want to.

But then the gravity of the situation came down on him like bucket of ice water.

Yuri broke away. "Victor, we can't. Not here."

Somewhere in the back of Victor's mind, he knew Yuri was right. "Not here," Yuri had said. He was correct. _Not here._ Not at this time. Not in this store. Maybe not even in this country. He was right. It hurt, but he was right.

Victor pulled back barely a centimeter. "I know," he admitted. He chuckled softly. "Sorry. I just lost it when you said that. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Yuri adjusted a little. Despite Victor's understanding, he was still being pinned to the wall. "It is funny though how you spent so much time trying to get outfits on me, and now you just want to take them off."

Victor leaned forward and placed his forehead on Yuri's shoulder like he was suddenly too embarrassed to face him properly. Yuri could feel him laughing lightly through the contact. "Sometimes, you have a way with words," he chuckled, his tone admiring.

"Sometimes, you have a way with no words," Yuri countered, licking his lips as emphasis.

Victor slapped his hand on the wall behind Yuri, bracing himself as though the other had physically punched him. "Don't do that again," Victor pleaded hoarsely. "I'm barely holding myself back as it is."

Yuri smirked. The power balance was on the verge of switching over yet again. He just had to find a ripe opportunity to take advantage of it. "Then…" He reached up and took Victor's wrist, pulling him away from the crutch of the wall. "Why don't you buy this costume while I change back so we can head home?"

Home. Yeah, right. Home was thousands of miles away. Home was a profoundly subjective and nebulous concept in this case, but he knew exactly what Yuri meant.

"Okay," Victor agreed. He was still under the impression that he was in control of the situation—by whatever small margin—and traced the top of Yuri's collar. "You'll have to take this off though—so I can leave it with the tailor."

Victor was mistaken though. The tipping point was imminent; Yuri just needed the right moment to flip everything on its head.

"Fine then." Yuri reached out and placed his hands on both sides of Victor's shoulders and sharply turned the other around. "Don't look," he warned. That smoky quality was back in Yuri's tone, and Victor was becoming acutely aware that he was losing control at a breakneck speed.

It wasn't there yet. Not yet. But Victor was ecstatic to see how Yuri would push it over the edge.

Yuri undressed painfully slow. He kept shooting back glances, making sure Victor was, indeed, not looking. Part of him wanted Victor to test him, but the other part was delighting in torturing him so.

Victor was waging a similar battle in his mind. He dared not take a single step from where Yuri had placed him, but he fought against his peripherals, trying to steal at least one glimpse.

"Here." Yuri draped the costume over Victor's shoulder. "Go ahead. I'll stay here and get dressed."

Not allowed even one solitary look? Victor had never felt so denied, but it shouldn't have, considering Yuri was already contemplating his next move. Costume in hand, not even a glance to the side, Victor stepped out of the dressing room.

 _Ah, do I really want to do this?_ Yuri considered what he had planned out only moments ago. He lifted up the costume that he had previously discarded in the "hell no" pile. It was too late though; he'd already committed.

Meanwhile, Victor was having an arduous time opening his wallet. Admittedly, along with his hands, his legs were a little shaky. He hoped the clerk didn't notice. The man seemed entirely preoccupied while he was writing down Yuri's measurements as Victor told him, but he wondered if that was enough to divert him from Victor's heavily suspicious behavior.

Done with the task at last, Victor circled back to retrieve Yuri.

"Yuri~? Ready to go?" Despite his usual singsong tone, Victor was anything but usual at the moment.

"Oh. That was quicker than I expected. Just give me a minute." There was some rustling behind the curtain. "It's just that… There was one other costume I wasn't sure about, and I thought I'd get your opinion while we have the chance."

The curtain rings squealed violently as Yuri pulled it back.

"So, what do you think?"

All the moisture left Victor's mouth.

It was Yuri—it was still Yuri—but he was in a costume Victor was sure he wouldn't wear in a million years. It was a passionate red, sewn to look like it'd been through a war—torn down the arms and heavily on the chest. It was as if he was wearing a tattered scarf as a shirt. And then the pants were jet black, strategic bits of skin peaking out from slashes in the fabric to match the shirt. And the best part of it wasn't even the costume itself but Yuri's face—almost as red as the shirt—and fogging up his glasses.

Unconsciously, Victor had somehow managed to dig his wallet out of his coat pocket. "We need to buy it," he stated pointblank.

Of all the reactions Yuri was expecting, this one was probably the most surprising. He backpedalled immediately, saying incredulously, "Idiot, it was just for you! I can't wear this out on the ice!"

"Who said anything about you skating in it?"

Yuri couldn't even see out of his glasses anymore—which was good because there was no way he could face Victor at that moment.

"Let's just… go home, okay?" Yuri had technically won their little game, but he didn't feel particularly victorious at the moment. Maybe he would when he finally got back into his regular clothes.

Victor was all too happy to concede though—to take his small victories where he could. "Yes, let's."

Once out of the ridiculous costume, the reality of the shopping trip started to sink in.

Sitting on the couch, Victor beside him, Yuri felt he had to say something. "Victor," Yuri started as he laced up his shoes, "you spent a lot of money on me." He meant for it to be an apology, but it came out more like an observation.

Victor was surprised for a second, but he quickly recovered, seeing an opening. He leaned towards Yuri until his mouth was practically on his ear, breath hot. "I would have paid more just to see you in that outfit today."

Yuri groaned, but it was more embarrassed sounding than erotic. "Please don't bring it up ever again."

Victor pulled back, scoffing, "You wound me, Yuri. I'll never forget that sight for as long as I live."

More groaning. Now, he was clearly losing the fight, but somehow, he didn't mind. "Let's go."

"Right." Victor leapt up.

"Victor, the bags—!"

He backtracked, a smile gracing his lips. "Sorry, I seem to forget every time."

And with that, they were headed home.

 _Author's Note:_

 _*1: "Good evening" in Russian._

 _*2: "Thank you" in Russian._  
 _*3: "Hello" in Russian._  
 _*4: "Hai," meaning "yes" in Japanese._

 _God damn, I love me some inverted power dynamics. What an emotional rollercoaster._

 _By the way, chapter three is already half-written, so yes, there will be more of this!_

 _And please write a comment if you can!_


	3. Between Episode 9 and 10

_Author's Note: I'm actually on time? Whoa, this is new._

 _I'm still really proud of the last chapter. For something that started off in my mind as "80's shopping montage," it turned out pretty great._

 _This next chapter is not as long, but I still think it's good. Please enjoy~!_

Yuri and Victor were beyond tired. They both had a sudden burst of energy upon seeing each other at the airport, but after the initial shock to the system, they were both left with the reality that neither of them had slept in over twenty-four hours.

The only thing that took priority over sleep was their empty stomachs, but luckily, Mrs. Katsuki had them covered with extra large pork cutlet bowls.

As good as it was, neither could focus on the flavor. At this point, it was only a means to an end. They leaned on each other wearily as they downed their food in perfect silence.

There was no question what they were going to do once they finished. Even though it was early afternoon in Hatsetsu, it was already night in Moscow. They were going to bed _now_ —Japanese time zone be damned.

Victor collapsed backwards onto his bed. Yuri followed, collapsing onto Victor.

The former chuckled, gazing down at Yuri's head on his chest. "You're surprisingly forward today," he remarked and reached up a hand to stroke Yuri's hair.

In response, Yuri turned over and buried his head into Victor's shirt. "Too tired," came his reply. "Too tired to do anything. You'll have to push me off if you don't like it."

"I don't remember implying I didn't like it," Victor quipped, tracing Yuri's ear with his finger. He could feel every breath Yuri took, the blood pumping through his body, everything all at once, and yet it wasn't the least bit overwhelming. Quite the opposite actually. If he wasn't so tired, perhaps he'd pursue this opportunity and actually put some effort into flirting, but for the moment, he was emotionally spent.

The room dissolved into silence until each other's breathing was their only companion.

Just as Victor was finally drifting to sleep, Yuri stirred.

"Victor?"

The tone roused Victor enough to reply. "M'hmm?"

"Turn over."

Victor could feel sleep slipping away, but he was far too intrigued to care. "What?"

"Turn over," Yuri repeated. "Face away from me. Towards the wall."

Victor felt a pang of distress deep in his chest, thinking that he must have somehow offended Yuri without his knowledge, but the other must have been able to tell from Victor's sharp inhale that his message had gotten lost in translation.

"I don't mean—! I'm not mad at you!" Yuri was sitting up now, gazing earnestly into Victor's eyes to convince him. "Just trust me."

Victor still wasn't quite sure, but he relented, countering, "You'll have to get off first if you want me to turn over."

"Oh." Yuri's cheeks colored. "Right." He rolled off Victor and prodded his side. "Come on. Turn over already."

Victor gave him another uncertain look but complied, turning his back to Yuri. Staring at the wall, he pondered what Yuri was up to for a moment, but he didn't have to speculate long.

Yuri slid one arm through the space between Victor's neck and the mattress and the other arm over Victor's side parallel with the ceiling, pulling closer and melding their bodies together in a spooning fashion.

Victor laughed lightly, no longer worried. "What's this about?"

Yuri mumbled into Victor's back, "It's just… Back in China. When you tried to make me sleep. It seemed like you really wanted to be the little spoon. I wanted to try it out."

Victor was struck silent for a moment. Then, he chuckled again. "I guess my secret is out."

"Why is it a secret?" Yuri questioned, tone intrigued. "Are you embarrassed about it?" That seemed unlikely to Yuri, considering Victor's shameless exhibitionist streak.

"Hmm…" Victor considered. He wasn't entirely sure himself, but he didn't know if he wanted to admit it. "Maybe?"

Yuri snuggled in closer. "Why?"

"'Why'?" Victor echoed. He'd never thought about it. It just didn't seem to come naturally. Or maybe the problem was that it came _too_ naturally. "Well, it's…" He furrowed his brows at the wall in deep concentration. "… It's just not a manly position to be in."

Yuri considered this. Suddenly, he felt a little offended. "Oh, so I'm the one who has to get delegated to the 'unmanly' position?" It came out harsher than he anticipated.

The gravity of what he had just said finally dawned on Victor.

"No—!" He spun around so fast, his shoulder knocked into Yuri's chin. The other man immediately hissed out some Japanese curses, clutching his chin in the palm of his hand. "That's not what I—! You misunderstand! Wait—Oh my god, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll live," Yuri groaned, laughing a little as he spied Victor's horrified expression over the view of his own hand.

Victor reached out and cupped Yuri's cheek, worry written all over his face. He chose to take Yuri at his word and return to the previous topic. "It's just…" He couldn't find the words. The fingers that were resting on the side of Yuri's face fidgeted uncomfortably as he grasped for meaning among all the thoughts swimming in his head.

How could he explain that he was predisposed to hide this side of him? That there were a million layers of culture and language and experiences that occasionally rose to the surface to suffocate his true feelings?

Yuri was quiet, studying Victor's expression. He'd almost never seen Victor so conflicted. But there must have been a clue somewhere there because realization began to dawn on him.

"Hey." Yuri reached up and removed Victor's hand from his face and inched closer to press their foreheads together. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Victor did. They were so close that all he could see were Yuri's deep brown irises, dark enough to swallow his pupil whole. It always made Victor feel a little intimidated, thinking that maybe those eyes were enough to see right through him at times.

Yuri moved in even closer somehow, determined to get Victor's full attention. "Listen," he started, "it's just us." He let that statement hang in the air a moment—let it sink in. "No one else is here."

Victor tilted his head, questioning. Wasn't that obvious? Of course it was just them. What did Yuri mean by that?

Yuri groaned a little, realizing the significance hadn't quite gotten through to him. He redoubled his efforts, clarifying, "I mean, you don't have to worry about looking weak in front of me." He tested the waters, inquiring, "Would you like it if I wasn't honest with you?"

Honesty? Was that what this was about? Victor had lost track along the way. He seemed to recall it being something about spooning, but everything had gotten complicated quickly. He answered the question anyway: "No, of course I wouldn't."

"See? When we're like this, we can be honest. We don't have to care what other people think."

The puzzle pieces were started to click together, albeit slowly.

"Oh… I can't believe I was embarrassed about a thing like that." Victor laughed. It felt good—broke the tension. "I guess I'm just not entirely used to it yet."

"To what?" Yuri's voice was accusatory. "To me?"

Victor laughed again, cuddling into Yuri's embrace. "Of course, I'm already abundantly used to you~!" He reached out and tickled Yuri's sides, garnering some laughter from the other.

"Stop it, stop—!" Yuri pushed away at Victor's hands, but it was done half-heartedly. He was still laughing, shaking the bed with it. "Vitya~!"

Abruptly, Victor's hands froze in place.

"What…?" He swallowed dryly. "What did you just call me?"

Yuri wasn't laughing anymore. He immediately went red, recognizing what he had said. "I, uh… You know you our old coach, Yakov? I mean, of course, you know him… Well, when I was back in Moscow, he called you Vitya, and I guess I just kind of…" He gave Victor a wary look. "Sorry… Do you not like it?"

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Victor immediately pounced on Yuri, adorning him with a smattering of kisses around his face. "I love it,"—a kiss—"I love it,"—another kiss—"I love it,"—finally, a kiss on the lips—"and I love you."

Yuri was giggling again. "Clearly," he said teasingly, leaning into that last kiss.

Victor made it last as long as he could before he had to come up for air, then gazed lovingly down at Yuri's augmented lips, admiring his work. "Say it again. Like before."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure I can do it like before, but I'll give it a try." He leaned up until they were mere seconds apart from engaging in another kiss, letting his mouth ghost over Victor's lips.

"Vitya."

This time might have been even better. Instead of the laughing tone, now his voice was hoarse with desire, and it made a shiver zip down Victor's spine.

"Oh, god. Again."

"Again?" Yuri reached up and poked the man's cheek, lightly directing Victor's attention away to give himself a break from those piercing blue eyes. "You're getting spoiled. If I say it any more, it won't be as special."

"It'll be special! It'll be special!" Victor insisted, dropping his head down to brush his nose against Yuri's. "I promise, it's special every time."

"Victor—"

"Nope!" Victor immediately shifted his attention slightly lower, capturing Yuri in a kiss. "You have to say it one more time," he mumbled against Yuri's lips. "One more, and I promise I'll let you go to sleep."

Yuri reached around and tugged Victor back by his hair decisively—though his amused expression subverted his stern action. "You're the one who needs sleep," he argued. "We can pick this up later."

"No, nooowww…" Victor was begging directly against Yuri's lips now. "Come on… Just one more time. Just one more." He pressed his tongue into Yuri's mouth, waiting for resistance.

He got none. Yuri melted in response, melding his tongue into Victor's. "Victor…"

"Vitya. Say Vitya." He tugged on Yuri's bottom lip with his teeth.

"N'hn…" Yuri was still fighting—but just barely. Even in this position, he still had just enough leverage to make a demand. "Maybe…" he mumbled, "… if you get my neck."

In response, Victor instantly pressed Yuri's chin to the side with his nose, granting him better access to the other's neck. He immediately sunk down on it, seizing the sensitive area near Yuri's pulse with his lips.

Yuri almost said it then and there. But he held back, opting instead to moan. Victor was a little disappointed that maneuver wasn't quite enough, but he had plenty of other tricks up his sleeve.

He licked it, curious if _that_ would be enough. No, just more moaning—not that it wasn't fine music to the ears. But he had an agenda now.

Fine. He'd have to resort to his secret weapon.

Carefully, he took the flesh into his mouth and bit down.

It was hardly a nip—wouldn't even leave a mark. He was merely testing the waters, concerned how Yuri would take it. They had never tried something like that, and Victor wasn't about to hurt Yuri over some silly little game.

Luckily, the action was received positively.

It was more of a squeak than a moan, but he could tell Yuri was pleased from the way he stroked the back of Victor's head appreciatively.

To double the effect, Victor brushed his tongue over the same spot. The reaction was immediate, and Yuri was suddenly wriggling underneath Victor's touch—no doubt realizing how close he was to giving in.

"Feel like calling me Vitya now?" Victor asked, his breath wisping over Yuri's neck. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but he was curious if Yuri would take the initiative to answer.

There was a pause as the younger man considered.

"Yes."

Huh. Surprisingly honest. Victor wouldn't have guessed that.

Then, Yuri's lips were on his again.

"Okay, you win… Vitya."

It was spoken directly into Victor's mouth. And this one was definitely the best one yet, bar none. He could feel the full effect of it collapsing onto him, traveling from his head to his toes and warming his whole body along the way.

Yuri fell back onto the mattress from the slightly contorted position he had to take to reach Victor and sighed contently. "Can we go to sleep _now_?" He pulled Victor down on top of him, emphasizing his point, but quickly realized his error. "Wait, bad idea, bad idea! Ugh, why are you so heavy? You have to sleep over _there_ —" With the utterance of "there," he pushed Victor to the side—where he flopped comically.

Victor blinked at his new ceiling view, processing all that had happened in the last few seconds. Finally, he registered that he'd been insulted and propped himself up on his elbow to present Yuri with glare. "How rude. It's all muscle, you know." His tone was spilling over with feigned artifice.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever the case, you were crushing me." Yuri prodded Victor's side. "Now, turn over again. I'm not done spooning you."

Victor chuckled but adhered to Yuri's wishes, rolling onto his side. Yuri was on him again. This time, they were both much more relaxed.

"Goodnight, Victor."

"Goodnight… Yuri-chan."

"Oh, god." Yuri shivered, but it wasn't the good kind. He clinged to Victor harder, burying his face as a blush crept up his neck. "Don't make a habit out of that one."

"But you gave me a nickname! I want to have one for you too!"

"Come up with a better one."

"But I like Yuri-chan!"

" _No_."

"Yuri-chan!"

"Vitya, please."

"See? It has all kinds of secret powers already!"

"Ugh."

That was quite enough for one day. Yuri turned out the light, and finally, the two drifted into well deserved sleep.

 _Author's Note: I guess I have no translator notes this chapter. Well, okay then..._

 _Please review!_


	4. Between Episode 10 and 11

_Author's Note: First of all, sorry this took forever. I must have rewrote this chapter like twenty times (not even an exaggeration.) Plus, I just started a new school term, so there's that too._

 _Also, I would just like to say that I CALLED IT. I CALLED WHAT YURI'S COSTUME WOULD LOOK LIKE IN THE FINAL EPISODE IN CHAPTER TWO OF THIS FIC. VICTOR'S STAMMI VICINO OUTFIT. BLUE COLOR. SILVER ACCENTS. I'M NOT SAYING I'M PSYCHIC OR ANYTHING, BUT I'M PSYCHIC._

 _Anyway, please enjoy._

"I can't believe this."

Well, that was what Yuri said, but what he really meant is that he didn't _want_ to believe this. But as he scrolled through the pictures on Victor's phone, it was getting harder and harder to deny.

The memories were slowly flooding back. They were hazy to be sure, but as he gazed at the screen, looking in absolute dismay as the snapshots testified to his shameful behavior at last year's banquet, he was starting to put the pieces back together. A word there, a touch here… Everything was steadily rushing back to him. The memories were shaking his core like an earthquake—and, like any real earthquake, the tsunami wasn't far behind, the bitter concoction of humiliation and guilt promptly washing over him.

"You should watch this one. This one is my favorite." Victor plucked the phone from Yuri's hands. He was silent for a moment, then finding the video in question, returned the devise to Yuri sideways for a widescreen viewing. Victor then took a seat behind Yuri on their hotel bed, resting his chin on Yuri's shoulder. He probably did so to allow him to see the phone as well, but all Yuri could focus on was the warmth of the other's chest pressed to his back. If he wasn't in the process of mentally drowning, he might have even enjoyed it. But before he could dwell on the thought any longer, Victor reached over Yuri's shoulder and tapped the screen, allowing the clip to play.

Yuri swallowed hard as the video began. He could feel Victor's gaze rested on him solely. He should have guessed. Victor must have seen the video dozens of times, but Yuri's reaction to it? That would be new.

"Victor~!" It was Yuri's voice, but it was coming from the phone as opposed to the incredibly embarrassed man presently in front of Victor. Yuri could only gape in horror as he watched himself from last year grind up against Victor's person. He wanted to shut his eyes, but the next thing that he heard intrigued him as his former self pleaded in incredibly slurred Japanese, "After this season ends, my family runs a hot spring resort, so please come."

Wait…

"If I win this dance battle…" the him from the video wagered, "… you'll become my coach, right?"

 _Wait._

The previous him must have caught on to past Victor's confusion, as he finally switched to English, practically shouting through his drunken stupor, "Be my coach, Victor~!"

"I never did understand the first few things you said," present Victor admitted behind him, chuckling. "But that last part was loud and clear."

"That's why?" Yuri scrambled to face Victor, incredulous. The other was jostled from his relaxed position but didn't seem to mind too much; if anything, he was looking smug. "That's why you showed up to my house to coach me? Wearing nothing? Flirting with no sense of self-preservation?"

"That's a bit harsh…"

"But am I _wrong_?"

Victor chuckled, but it wasn't the usual kind. This laugh had a lot more subtext to uncover. "Give me some credit—I figured out pretty quickly that drunk Yuri and normal Yuri are two wildly different characters."

Yuri paused, replaying the memories of the last year in his head. He had always felt like he was missing something in his early interactions with Victor. Now that he finally knew what, everything made a whole lot more sense. It was like being given the Rosetta Stone to the past year of his life, and here he was, excavating bits of meaning through rough translations.

"So, that's why you came on so strong…" Yuri was thinking aloud—though Victor didn't seem to mind. The older man was perfectly content to let him figure it out at his own pace. "I didn't remember a thing." Yuri finally registered that the other was still present and looked up at him with innocuous, vacant eyes. "Aren't you the least bit embarrassed about that?"

Despite the fact that Victor was still smiling, Yuri sensed something shatter behind the mask. "I'm trying hard not to think about it," he stated, façade still in tact—but only just.

"I wish I could do the same," Yuri groaned. He flopped down on the mattress and drew the blanket over him until only his face was visible. "All I want to do is crawl under a rock and die."

Victor stripped the blanket off of him. "That won't do," he admonished, smirking at Yuri's flailing in response to suddenly being uncovered. "Can't have you dying before you win the Grand Prix Final."

"Ugh." Yuri fought for the blanket back, but Victor wouldn't allow it. The younger man finally gave up, burying his face in the mattress. He mumbled through the material, "I'm just glad Phichit wasn't at that party. Those photos would have been all over Instagram."

Victor took this opportunity to pry his phone from Yuri's hand where he was still clutching it and scrolled through the photos again, fondly admiring them. "I'm glad too," he agreed cryptically. "Now, we have something interesting to show everyone at our wedding."

Yuri immediately bolted upright, grasping the top of the phone and promptly putting a stop to Victor's scrolling—though Victor maintained a firm grasp on the devise. "Absolutely not! These photos don't leave this room, let alone this phone!"

"Why not? Most of our wedding guests will have already seen the photos." Victor's tone was exceedingly patient, despite his contrary stance.

"W-w-what about my parents?" Yuri sputtered. His hand was shaking as it continued to partially obscure Victor's phone screen. "They can'tsee me poledancing. I'll die, Victor. I'll _die_."

It was a fair point, Victor had to admit, but he wasn't about to admit that and backtrack on the emotional progress they were making.

"Such dramatics," Victor teased, a hint of mirth seeping into his tone. "I can hardly believe this is coming from the man that boldly seduced me in front of the entire figure skating scene."

Yuri finally let his hand fall from Victor's phone onto the mattress. "Come on… Be serious. You couldn't have possibly been seduced by me then."

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Yuri began to smile obliquely, starting to recognize the humor among the tragedy. It was like watching a figure skater capable of landing a quad trip over his own feet; the irony was not lost on him.

"I mean… I was a mess. Drunk, shirtless… Pants-less at some point. Not to mention disoriented and completely devoid of all charm and charisma. Nobody could fall for that, right?" Yuri laughed, light and airy.

Victor wasn't laughing.

Yuri's heart was trapped somewhere between his chest and his head. He was vaguely aware that it was thudding dully in his throat. The man swallowed, but the action failed to fully return the organ to its rightful place.

"Right…?" he prompted again. But somehow, by this point, he was already privy to the truth.

Victor swung his legs off the side of the bed, hanging his head lowly. His hair fanned over his eyes.

Yuri didn't feel like laughing anymore.

The younger man reached forward to tuck Victor's bangs behind his ear but opted last second to push his own raven locks back. "Sorry, that…" Yuri inhaled deeply, but the exhale was piercing and sharp, his panic beginning to punctuate even his most fundamental of functions. "That was insulting, wasn't it?"

"It was the most fun I'd ever had."

Victor's voice was thick with emotion. He finally looked up, fixing Yuri with a hard stare that was meant to convey his meaning but only succeeded in scaring Yuri half to death.

" _You_ were the reason I had the most fun I'd ever had."

"Uh…" came Yuri's intelligent response. He didn't really have anything to say to that. What _could_ you say to that?

Victor finally blinked away the harshness of his smolder, shoulders shaking lightly with silent laughter. "I'm sorry. That must sound ridiculous, right?"

Despite himself, Yuri couldn't stop the ascent of his his lips as they curved traitorously upward. He could hardly be blamed; the tension in the air was palpable, and he wanted desperately to return to a sense of normalcy—if only for a second. "Yeah. Just a little."

"It's true though." Yuri was shocked by how sincere Victor's tone was.

The man looked like he had more to say—something not properly articulated was still storming in those deep blue eyes—but Yuri saw an opportunity to steer the conversation in his favor and took advantage of the thoughtful lull, interjecting, "Well, tell me more about this handsome bachelor who so expertly seduced you." Yuri playfully leaned on his hand, eyes half-lidded to add dramatic effect. "He sounds dreamy."

Thankfully, Victor took kindly to this transition, playing along. "Oh, he is." He mimicked Yuri's pose, leaning in so they were almost forehead to forehead. "He has it all. Devilish good looks. Skillful dance moves. An alcohol tolerance that could drink any average Russian under the table."

"He sounds like the whole package," Yuri chuckled. "I'm almost jealous."

It was weird, talking about himself in the third person like this. But Yuri was just happy Victor seemed to be his usual self again.

"Mmm, you should be," Victor murmured. "One night was all it took. After that night of passion, I didn't stand a chance of resisting him."

Well, that was odd phrasing. Yuri's face distorted slightly, the previously mischievous smile melting away. He didn't mean… No, he couldn't mean…

"Wait, Victor, did we...?"

Yuri couldn't verbalize it. He pleaded silently with his eyes, hoping Victor would meet him halfway. Slowly, Victor's expression shifted as the implications of what he said bore down on him fully. Yuri hadn't put his fear into it into words, but his mental floundering was a good enough hint to allow the other an educated guess.

"No," he assured, and with the omission, Yuri visibly released some tension from his shoulders. "Well," Victor made an amendment, "not for lack of trying on your part..."

"Oh, god." Yuri covered his face, bracing himself. "What did I do?"

Victor's features softened. He pried Yuri's hands away, holding them against his chest. "Nothing. You ended up doing nothing. You were very eager, but I told you to come ask me again when you were sober."

"And then I never did..."

"I just figured you were embarrassed about it."

"Trust me—I would have been had I actually remembered."

Victor brought the hands he held tightly to his chest up to his lips, kissing Yuri's knuckles tenderly. It was becoming a habit, Yuri faintly observed.

"Well…" Victor's gaze didn't lift off those hands—or rather, the gaze didn't lift off Yuri's engagement ring—as he mused, "… However chaotically this relationship started, it seems to have reached a good place."

"Yeah." Yuri smiled at him. "Miraculously, I somehow managed to fail at life so hard that I came full circle and fell into success."

"Such harsh words, Солнышко,"* Victor noted, meaning for it to reprimand him, but the sting never came. "Please be kinder to my future husband."

Yuri fought an eyeroll. "I'll try."

"That's all I ask for." Victor considered his own words, vaguely realizing he had misspoken somewhere along the way. "Well," he amended, "perhaps there's one other thing I'll ask for."

Yuri briefly struggled not to answer with the inherent "anything" that threatened to leave his mouth, opting instead to innocently reply, "Yes?"

Victor seemed to sense this, smirking, and leaned in to whisper directly into Yuri's ear. "Our wedding."

He didn't elaborate further, so Yuri was forced to prompt him with another "Yes?"

Victor let Yuri wonder a beat longer.

Finally, he divulged, "We absolutely have to show the banquet photos at the wedding. I won't take no for an answer."

This time, Yuri did follow through with that eyeroll. "You're impossible," he muttered, but all sense of seriousness on the subject had vanished.

"Then, you'll let me show them?" The younger man wanted to laugh at how hopeful Victor sounded.

"I mean…" Yuri glanced to the side, a bit of the embarrassment at remembering what the pictures portrayed returning to him. "… They _are_ souvenirs fromthe first time we officially met. I'm not sure the wedding would be complete without them."

"Thank you, Yuri!" Victor pulled the other into a crushing hug that had Yuri sputtering in surprise.

After the initial shock, Yuri mumbled, "Yeah, yeah…" into the crook of his fiancé's neck and released a sigh that felt incredibly therapeutic after an entire day's worth of crazy events.

And while he should have felt good, making Victor happy like that, all he could think about was his mother and what kind of tone she would take to question him on where he learned how to poledance.

 _Author's Note:_

 _*1: A term of endearment in Russian, meaning "sunshine." I think we're all agreed that Victor would be all over the nicknames._

 _So, I have at least one more chapter for this fic in mind-maybe two, but don't quote me on that._

 _I love reading your comments, so please review~!_


	5. Post Episode 12

_Author's Note: I don't really have anything to say here this time. More important notes will be at the end. Thank you for reading._

"Welcome home~!"

Yuri dropped his bags. They landed with a dull thud at his feet. He probably broke something in them with the rough treatment. But none of that mattered now. Beautiful, loving arms were encasing him. This mattered. This mattered now.

It had been the longest Victor and Yuri had been apart since they had (formally) met. Yuri had to go back to Japan to pack his things. Victor went back to Russia to get things settled for the new season. It had taken all of their strength to separate, and now, finally back together, the weight of their time from each other sat heavily on their shoulders.

Yuri melted into the hug.

He felt a hand work its way into his hair, carding the strands between delicate fingers.

"Your hair is so long now," Victor observed softly—like it was an incredible revelation to marvel at.

Yuri laughed. "Not nearly as long as your hair was at your senior debut."

Victor only held him tighter. "But still. Your hair grows so fast. It's beautiful."

Yuri sighed, but it was a good sigh—a sigh full of appreciation. He thought faintly that this was probably the most relaxed he had ever been in his whole life.

But then the hug ended.

And the anxiety set in.

The skater had just packed up his most precious belongings and hauled them halfway across the world. He was in a whole new country—a country that spoke a language he didn't understand. He scarcely knew where he was. He wasn't entirely confident he could even point to St. Petersburg on a map—especially if that map happened to be in Russian. He had just completely overhauled his entire life, and he didn't have any idea what he was doing, and—!

The panic must have been obvious on his face, because Victor brought a hand up and slowly ran a finger over Yuri's cheekbone, tracing its outline. "Did you sleep on the plane?" he ended up asking, picking that question out of a million to start out with.

Its alleged randomness caught Yuri off-guard. "Um… No. I was too…" _Anxious, nervous, on edge._ "… excited." He winced at how unconvincing he sounded. And, just as he expected, Victor's eyes cut through him to the truth.

"You can be honest, Yuri," Victor told him quietly. "This isn't my first time meeting you. I know that this won't be easy for you. I won't take it personally."

Suddenly, Yuri recalled college. He recalled moving across the world in the opposite direction, speaking an entirely different language. He had always had problems with anxiety, but eighteen-year-old him didn't think it would be a big deal. He knew English; he had studied it extensively in school. He thought a big city in America wasn't major cause for concern.

But what Yuri didn't realize was that any change had the potential to trigger him, no matter how small. All the way across the world or next-door to the onsen—the probability was the same.

So, Yuri couldn't lie to himself anymore. And he certainly couldn't lie to Victor.

"Okay," he breathed out, letting the simplicity of the response wash over him. Pure acceptance. He repeated, just for good measure, "Okay."

Yuri suddenly realized that his and Victor's hands were intertwined, being held up between them by the other. Since when…? But Victor was just smiling at him, enjoying the look of surprise that Yuri exhibited.

Yuri dared to hope, at that moment, that maybe it would be different this time. Maybe the anxiety wouldn't make it past Russian customs. Maybe Victor would close their apartment door, leaving anxiety outside on the doorstep to shiver in the falling snow.

Speaking of which…

"Victor, it's cold."

The spell was broken—but not unwelcomingly so. The moment had lasted just as long as it needed to. "Right," Victor acknowledged, and slowly, he closed the door.

"Um, my bags are still…" Yuri gestured vaguely behind him without looking but was having a hard time justifying in his mind why that was important right now. Makkachin took that moment to let his presence be known and leaned on Yuri's side, offering a welcome distraction.

Victor's expression softened as Yuri scratched the dog behind the ears. "I'll get them. Why don't you look around in the meantime?"

It finally occurred to Yuri that there was an entire apartment to explore beyond where Victor stood. "Oh… Okay." Yuri sidestepped around the other awkwardly, finally taking in the view.

It was just as grand as Yuri imagined—if not grander. It was an apartment he could only have dreamed of living in, and now, Victor was sharing it with him. No amount of "But, Yuri, it's your home too now~!" was going to dull the inherent disbelief that he was somehow allowed to stay here. He'd probably wake up tomorrow thinking the same thing—and then the next day and then the next and so forth. Never in a million years, Yuri thought, would he ever get used to this.

Yuri wandered back and forth, as though trying to commit its layout to muscle memory. Makkachin trailed close behind, as though acting as his tour guide. There was an expansive kitchen and a living room with floor to ceiling windows. Then, down the hall, there was an office and a guest bedroom and a bathroom. Across from that was the master bedroom, which Yuri carefully traversed.

Most of what Yuri had seen of the apartment was impeccably clean and hardly looked lived in, but Victor's bedroom was different. The sheets were disheveled, and books and magazines littered the surrounding furniture. A laptop laid lamely on a chair near the window, and next to it, a walk-in closet was filled to the brim.

Of all the rooms, this one was the most comfortable to Yuri. It was the most _Victor._ He suddenly had the overwhelming urge to lay down on the bed, surrounded by the pleasant atmosphere, and take a long nap.

"Sorry, it's messy."

Yuri yelped. Victor was behind him, Yuri's bags in tow, looking quite amused. Yuri wondered why for a moment before recognizing that he had been gazing at Victor's bed for a while now.

"I-I was just thinking of sleeping!" Yuri defended, but even though it was the truth, he knew that nothing could have sounded more like a hastily thrown together excuse. "And I don't mind that it's messy…" He admitted quietly, gaze sinking down towards the hardwood floor, "I like it like this…"

Victor chuckled. "I guess I don't have to clean then." He strode over to the chair with the laptop sitting on it, removed the device, and placed Yuri's things down. "I'll leave these here for you to unpack." He took a thoughtful pause as he found an appropriate place for the misplaced laptop. "Let's eat dinner first though," he decided, returning to Yuri's side with his declaration.

That sounded good to Yuri's stomach. It had been a long flight, and he'd hardly eaten anything because of the nerves. "Yeah, okay," he agreed, shadowing Victor to the kitchen.

There was an unspoken agreement that Yuri was in charge of meals. Victor had long-since been banned from the kitchen at the onsen, having demonstrated lackluster culinary skills. But it didn't matter that day anyway; neither of them were in the mood to make anything. Sensing this, Victor picked a phone up from off the counter and called in a delivery.

While they waited, Yuri went back to the bedroom to unpack. Victor followed, eager to help. Makkachin, as always, was on their heels.

Yuri stopped in front of his things and considered, eyes alternating between looking at his bags and looking at Victor's closet, as though carefully considering his strategy before making a significant move.

"How am I going to fit all my clothes in there?" Yuri muttered in regards to the overflowing closet, a finger resting on his bottom lip, and Victor thought contently that Yuri must have picked up that habit from him.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Victor assured after a moment, and to emphasize his point, he swung the door open. "See? It just looks bad from the outside."

Yuri had to agree. Now open, it was apparent that there was a lot more space towards the back that was yet to be utilized. That settled, he nodded and held out a pile of his clothes for Victor. "Help me?" he prompted, and Victor obliged.

Yuri turned back to his things and took another handful of clothes, succeeding in completely emptying out one piece of luggage. But there, at the very bottom of the suitcase, was something he hadn't seen a long while.

He knew he shouldn't have let Mari help him pack.

Yuri swore—and louder than he had intended.

"Yuri, are you okay?" Victor called from the closet. He was in the process of hanging up some of Yuri's shirts but paused to look up from his work and consider his partner's state.

Yuri slammed the lid of the suitcase down as hard as he could, but it barely made an audible noise. Just for good measure, he turned and leaned on it. "Fine! I'm fine! Everything is okay!" He hated how he sounded—shrill and unnatural—but no matter what, Victor could _not_ see what was in that suitcase.

At first, Victor was concerned with Yuri's sudden strange behavior, but as he approached, he spied the blush upon the younger man's face, and worry was quickly replaced with amusement.

"Oh? So, there's nothing in that suitcase?"

Yuri couldn't figure out if he was supposed to nod or shake his head. Those concepts seemed far too complex—especially now that embarrassment that was rapidly overtaking every corner of his mind. "It's empty," he found himself saying after not being able to decide on an appropriate gesture.

It was exceedingly apparent by the smirk on Victor's face that he was not buying it at all. Experimentally, the older man went to reach around Yuri to lift the lid of the suitcase, but his fiancé only backed more into it, keeping whatever it was that was in there effectively contained with his body weight.

"Yuuuri…"

"Please don't."

"What could possibly be so bad?"

"You don't want to know."

Victor acted fast. His arm snaked around Yuri and slid the suitcase off the chair. Yuri fell back onto the seat with a yelp in reaction to having lost his center of gravity. Even so, he recovered in record time, snatching the items in question out of the bag and holding them to his chest and away from Victor's prying eyes.

It was a stack of papers from the looks of it, but Victor could only see the backs of them, which were plain white, albeit intriguingly glossy. There must have been twenty—no, maybe even thirty—all together. Victor strained his neck trying to get a glimpse at the fronts of them, but in response, Yuri held them even closer to his person, the sheets crumpling slightly with the pressure.

Victor held up his hands, and for a moment, Yuri thought it was a sign of surrender.

He thought wrong.

Victor's fingers twitched in front of him—a preview of coming attractions. "If you don't give them up, I'm going to have to tickle them out of you."

Yuri only held the papers impossibly closer. "I'll sleep on the couch," he threatened, angling his body towards the door.

Victor winced. That was a low blow. It must be really embarrassing if Yuri was resorting to that.

"I'll risk it," Victor said, and that was the only warning he gave before bounding forward, targeting Yuri's sides with his hands.

"Victor Nikiforov, don't you dare—!"

But it was too late. With the first hint of a tickle to Yuri's sides, his arms were reflexively thrown up, the papers scattering everywhere.

Posters rained from the sky, and once settled, decorated the floor of the bedroom.

"Is that… me?" Victor surveyed the room, realizing he was now surrounded in a sea of his own visage. "Are these all… me?" He couldn't keep the unadulterated wonder out of his tone.

Yuri was hiding his face in his hands. "I told Mari-neechan I didn't want them…" he mumbled, but apparently, was feeling a lot braver now that he didn't have to look Victor in the eye. "I told her I was living with the real thing, so I didn't need…" The explanation faded, though Victor assumed there was no real ending to that sentence.

"You… Did you have these in your room in Hasetsu?" He wasn't sure he'd get an answer, but if that were the case, it would certainly explain some things.

Finally, Yuri lowered his hands—only to start tangling his fingers in front of him awkwardly. It was practically an omission of guilt.

"Wait, is that why you didn't want to sleep with me when I first got to Hasetsu?"

"I didn't want to sleep with you because I hardly knew you then!" Yuri sputtered, but there was no bite to it. His fingers entangled further, spotlighting the truth. "Anyway, I'm… sorry."

"Sorry?" Victor cocked his head, genuinely confused. "Sorry for what?"

Yuri sunk to his knees and began compiling the posters. "It's… weird, right? To have all these posters of you?"

After a beat to process this, Victor smiled and went about helping his fiancé gather up the collection. "It's not weird. If anything, it's incredibly flattering."

Yuri's face burned at that, and he said nothing as he continued his work.

Before they had collected them all, the doorbell rang. It startled Yuri, and the posters went flying again.

Victor laughed. "It's the food. I'll get it. You can… put those wherever you'd like." He winked, and Yuri's face went up in flames yet again.

The rest of the evening was far less eventful. They had their take-out, fed Makkachin, watched a bit of TV—together in perfect domesticity. Despite its mundane nature, the excitement in the air hardly diminished throughout any of it. For Yuri, everything was still new and interesting. For Victor, everything was the same but had Yuri in it, which automatically made it a hundred times better.

Slowly, they winded down for bed.

With Yuri in pajamas and Victor in hardly anything at all, they faced each other, standing on opposite sides of the bed. Makkachin lied at the foot of it, spread out lazily just out of reach where they couldn't accidentally kick him in their sleep.

"Shall we?" Victor baited, but it wasn't his usual playful tone. He was wearing the calculated mask of a coach, quietly anticipating his student's next move.

He could tell the gears were turning in Yuri's head, and although he had a few guesses as to what could troubling the other, he didn't want to make assumptions.

"Something on your mind?"

It was practically a meaningless inquiry; there was always something on Yuri's mind.

Yuri wrinkled his nose at the bed. "It's weird," he started. "It's just… We're not at my parent's house. We're not in a hotel. We're at home, and this is our bed, and no one else is here. It just… I don't know…" Yuri searched his mind for the correct term. "I just feel… like an adult…? I guess? Does that make any sense?"

Victor blinked at him. Of all things, that was hardly what he thought Yuri was fretting about. He suddenly had the urge to laugh but fought it back. "No, I… I think I understand what you mean." He paused, recollecting his thoughts. "You feel more mature—like you've finally come into your own."

Yuri's shoulders slumped forward, but it was a disguised gesture of relief. "Yeah. Something like that. I mean, I really shouldn't… It's not like I bought this apartment. It's yours—"

"It's _ours_."

They had been over this before. Yuri gave in quickly enough. "It's ours," he amended softly. "But still… I feel… Well, like you said, I've come into my own. I just feel different is all."

Victor nodded in understanding.

Finally, Yuri slipped under the covers, and Victor wasn't far behind him. They rested comfortably—facing each other—but Yuri's eyes didn't meet his fiancé's. He was still staring at the bed beneath him like it had slighted him somehow, and this time, Victor was pretty confident that he knew what Yuri was thinking.

They never really talked about intimate moments before they happened. There was no need to. Being together felt as natural as breathing. But now, with Yuri's nerves frayed and emotions vulnerable, some communication, at the very least, seemed necessary.

"We don't have to do anything," Victor led, leaving the night open to whatever Yuri was comfortable with.

At last, Yuri met his gaze. He realized then that Victor was letting him out. But what he really wanted was to be let in.

"I need a distraction."

The statement hung in the air.

Once it registered, Victor's mouth twitched upward into a teasing smile. "I would hope you consider me more than just a distraction…"

Yuri's expression suddenly fell. "What? Of course I do! I mean—!" He was spiraling already. He was breaking a personal best for how fast he could jump to conclusions.

"Yuri! Yuri, it was a joke," Victor called through his panic, finding and seizing the other's hands.

Somehow, Victor's words were able to ground him. "Oh," Yuri articulated, feeling a little embarrassed. "Of course… Sorry…"

Victor kissed his forehead. "No need to apologize," he mumbled against the younger man's tousled bangs. "I shouldn't be teasing you until you're more comfortable."

Yuri sighed, vocalizing his frustration. "You shouldn't have to walk on eggshells around me."

Victor didn't respond—not verbally at least. He just held Yuri closer. His actions didn't have a destination or agenda though; even with their close proximity, he was purposefully willing his muscles into a relaxed state, allowing Yuri to set the tone. He figured Yuri had had enough excitement for one day.

He figured wrong.

Yuri found his lips. The meaning behind the kiss was immediately apparent—especially when Yuri pushed his whole body into it.

"Let me make it up to you?"

It was an atom bomb of a proposal. It sent ghosts of sensations through Victor's skin, culminating beautifully with a needy noise escaping Victor's mouth.

Even so, the rational part of his brain—however on auto-pilot it was at the moment—needed Yuri to make sure he knew that he didn't owe Victor anything.

"You don't need to make it up to me." Victor took Yuri's face in both hands, searching his eyes to make sure that the declaration got through to him. "You're not inconveniencing me. I love having you here. Don't feel compelled to do anything you don't want to do."

For a moment, Victor thought he might have said the wrong thing.

In response to Victor's impassioned reassurance, Yuri grumbled, eyes skirting over to the side. "Fine," he replied curtly.

But Victor didn't have a single spare moment to overanalyze his words, because within an instant, Yuri had him pinned to the mattress, straddling his hips.

Yuri brought his face down to Victor's, warm breath dusting over his lips. "Let me rephrase the question," he murmured darkly. He rolled his hips, eliciting another delicious response from the man under him and punctuating his proposition. "Let me be selfish?"

Now this, Victor could work with.

It was the green light. Now that Victor was entirely, fully, wholly convinced Yuri was doing this for his own pleasure and not to appease him, Victor was more than happy to reciprocate. He reached up and took Yuri's head in his hands, dragging his fingers thoughtfully through the other's silky hair. Then, he brought him down into a leading kiss—one that silently promised many more to follow.

Yuri lost himself in it. This was exactly what he wanted—for his mind to be completely and utterly blank. Nobody could make that happen like Victor. Victor had been entirely unattainable to Yuri in his youth—distant, unreal, almost fictional. Now that Yuri was allowed to be with him, live with him, touch him… It was like living in a dreamscape every day. It almost made him delirious, and he wanted to drink in every moment. He was drunk on Victor but recognized his interactions with shocking sobriety, wanting desperately to experience everything in perfect clarity.

The kiss stuttered to a stop, both taking a moment to catch their breath.

Victor recovered quicker than Yuri and began trailing butterfly kisses down the other's neck, pausing only to properly appreciate the adorable noises Yuri made in response. As much as he was enjoying their positions as they were, Victor knew that Yuri would be wanting to switch soon if he desired having his anxiety silenced with raw physicality.

Gently, Victor guided Yuri over and under him, filling the space Yuri previously occupied. His assault of kisses didn't halt for a second as he positioned himself properly above his fiancé, tangling his legs with Yuri's and arching deeply into the other man's space.

"What do you want, Yuri?" Victor asked, tone dropping with suggestive reverb. It was a leading question—one that Victor already knew the answer to—but he had to hear it from Yuri first.

Yuri threw his head back, releasing a comically over-exaggerated sigh. "Are you really going to make me say it?" He tried to force his tone to be as exasperated as possible, hoping to convince Victor to give up on this endeavor.

But two could play at that game.

Victor sneaked his hand up Yuri's shirt, tracing his finger over the outline of his collarbone. "That's fine. If you don't want to tell me, we can just go to sleep…"

"Aaah…" Yuri tried to squirm away, but Victor had him locked in place, pinned down expertly by muscular legs and an arm boxing in his shoulder—not to mention that barely-there sensation on his chest.

Victor grew more persistent in the prolonged silence. His hand traveled lower, ghosting over Yuri's abdomen and pinching at the squishy exterior. And then, unceremoniously, it dipped into Yuri's pants.

Yuri's pupils dilated at the contact, hips bucking involuntarily. "Fine! I'll say it! Just do it already!" He bit his lip with the admission, half-regretting how easily he'd given in. But the other half—the louder half—was just a steady stream of _Victor, Victor, Victor._

Said man was smiling at him, obviously very pleased with his victory. He ducked his head beside Yuri's ear and encouraged sweetly, "Details, Yuri. Give me details."

Yuri had a hard time saying the words—the explicit ones anyway. But he figured, if he was a little creative, he could come up with a proper work around—one that could satisfy them both.

"I want you to shut up my brain," Yuri started, and he watched Victor swallow heavily at his words. "I don't want to think about anything else. I don't even want to remember my own name by the end of it—only yours." Yuri leaned up, pressing his cheek to Victor's and whispered, "Think you can handle that, Vitya?"

Instantly, Victor was nodding like an idiot. "Yeah… Yeah, I can handle that."

Yuri dropped his head back down on the mattress, eyes heavily lidded. Eros Yuri was in full effect, and if Victor didn't act fast, the man before him would take over—and yet somehow, he couldn't come up with a single reason why that would be a bad thing besides the fact that Yuri himself had specifically requested otherwise.

God, Yuri looked like a vision beneath him. He was on Victor's bed, and holy shit _,_ that fact alone had him keening already. His fiancé, his partner, _his Yuri_ was framed like a piece of art atop Victor's sheets, body sprawled out and hair still wet from a recent shower. Yuri was here—had moved halfway across the world just to be with him—and wanted nothing in return except for Victor to "distract" him so thoroughly and so well that he would no longer be able to think straight.

Who was he to deny such a request?

"Then, let's begin…"

-transition-

Yuri didn't know where he was, but he knew it was early. Too early. _Jetlag,_ he thought idly. He didn't have to open his eyes to ascertain a thing like that. And he also wasn't in Hasetsu—that much he knew for sure. But he was less confident as to the reason why. Should he be getting up to dress for his short program? No, he was already sore. Free program then? No, that didn't seem right either.

He finally blinked his eyes open languidly, taking in the surroundings. A face full of dog fur. A light and airy room. A navy blue duvet. Snow outside. Warm inside. Victor's things. Victor's room.

Yuri bolted upright.

Oh. Right. Victor's apartment. No, _their_ apartment. Their home. And this was their room and their bed.

Damn, that was a lot to take in at eight in the morning.

Blindly, Yuri felt around for his glasses. He usually placed them on the bed near his pillow when he slept, but this time, he found them folded neatly on the nightstand—no doubt, Victor's handy work.

Beside his glasses was a note by the very same man.

 _Went to get breakfast. Love you! ! ! 3 –Виктор*_

Of course there was three explanation points. Of course there was a heart. And Victor knew how to write his name in English just fine, but _of course_ , he wrote it in Russian, curly, loopy calligraphy and all. It was so characteristically Victor that Yuri couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Makkachin barked at him, having been roused from slumber by Yuri's laughter.

"Are you hungry?" Yuri asked the dog, ruffling his fur. "Did Victor not feed you yet? Did he let both of us sleep in?"

The dog only licked his hand, as though beckoning it to put food in his bowl.

"Okay, okay," Yuri mumbled, pushing himself off the mattress. He was a little unsteady on his feet from the previous night's activities but not unbearably so. He felt like he'd had a very satisfying work-out; although, work-outs didn't usually leave marks on his skin—not like these ones anyway.

His face burned as he gazed at them in the bathroom mirror, and without much thought, he grabbed Victor's signature red and white Olympics jacket from its perch on the back of the door and cloaked it over the more obvious marks.

Makkachin snorted happily as Yuri poured kibble into his bowl. Yuri was hungry as well, but since Victor had gone out specifically to bring him back food, he restrained himself to a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa with it.

An hour later, tea depleted, his mind started reeling.

 _An hour is a while,_ Yuri recognized silently, sparing a glance at the door. He huffed a little at his own impatience. _You're being ridiculous._

That thought only tided him over for another few minutes before he was stalking back to the bedroom in search of his phone.

Yuri brought it back to the couch and stared at the "no service" label in the top left corner. Right. Russia. He wasn't on a Russian phone plan yet.

Whatever. He could always just use Victor's Wi-Fi.

Now, what was the password again…?

It occurred to Yuri then that Victor hadn't given it to him yet. They were so busy yesterday that it hadn't even come up—not once.

No phone. No Internet. No knowledge of Russian language or location.

Yuri was totally isolated.

The panic was swift.

Tears sprung forward, spilling down his cheeks. _You're being dumb,_ he thought uselessly. He pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand and rubbed at his eyes, attempting to quell the flow before it could get a proper foothold. _You always do this, and then it turns out fine, and you feel stupid._

Despite the accuracy of that statement, he was not in the right mindset to accept it. Instead, his mind was unhelpfully providing him with a myriad of worst-case scenarios, imagining them in painfully intricate detail and effectively torturing himself.

 _Stop. Don't think. Distract yourself._ Yuri inhaled deeply, silently thanking his brain for coming up with a helpful idea for once.

He picked up his phone again and stared challengingly down at the lock screen.

Still no cell service or Internet—not that he had expected different. Even so, he unlocked it and went about looking through his camera roll. He didn't need a data plan for _that._

Yuri smiled obliquely through his tears as he relived the last year of his life superficially, picture after picture attesting to the whirlwind that had been Victor in his life. Most of the photos weren't taken by him; he wasn't the type to constantly chronicle his life through pictures like Phichit. Instead, the majority of them were saved from other people's Instagram accounts and then carefully categorized by Yuri after the fact.

Yuri liked Victor's photos best. His fiancé loved to take pictures of everything that caught his fancy—from exotic foods to pretty views to interesting people. At the beginning of their relationship, it had been a good variety, but admittedly, as the pictures got more recent, it was clear that it was becoming more and more of a niche market. More specifically, it was a niche market of Yuri. Slowly but steadily, he was becoming the main subject of Victor's account. It was practically a Yuri Katsuki fan page at this point. Yuri was never one for the spotlight—and he knew Victor was well aware of that fact—but Yuri couldn't find it in himself to be mad at him. He just wished their friends wouldn't keep bringing it up and making fun of them for it.

Loneliness gripped his heart again.

"Ah…" Yuri rubbed at his eyes a second time. His chest felt tight. He tried to coach himself into breathing like he had been taught to do in these situations, but it wasn't coming easily.

He flopped down on his side, burying himself into the cushions of the sofa.

 _Victor… Help me._

"Yuri, I'm back~!"

Yuri shot up. "Oh… Victor… おかえり."*

Victor's smile faltered. His eyes widened. His bags hit the counter. Within an instant, he was on his knees at Yuri's side, pushing back the other's bangs.

"What happened, Солнышко?"*

Yuri found himself laughing despite the conflicting fact that he was somehow crying even harder now. He simply couldn't help it; he had suddenly remembered a similar situation in Barcelona where Victor hadn't taken notice of his state at all. He must have looked worse than he thought. Either that, or Victor was getting better at reading him, and that thought both terrified him and delighted him at the same time.

"It's nothing. It's stupid." He was still laughing, but it was coming out awkward and broken. "Seriously, it's stupid. Don't worry about it."

Victor gently pushed his fiancé's head to his chest. "It's not stupid. Please tell me?" He kissed the top of Yuri's head, as though offering incentive.

Yuri could feel how fast Victor's heart was beating. Was this his doing? Was Victor worried about him? He could hardly believe that, but here was the evidence, right in front of him.

"I just…" He took fistfuls of Victor's shirt in his hands. It was cold. Why was Victor so cold? Oh, right. He had been out in the snow, getting breakfast for them. Of course. "I just got scared. I'm sorry. It was stupid. You weren't here, and I couldn't call you, and I couldn't call anyone, and I don't know where I am, and I didn't know where you were, and…" His voice broke finally, having run out of things to list. He always rambled when he was anxious. Why did Victor tolerate it? He didn't know where the man found the patience to put up with him.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry." Victor began stroking the back of Yuri's head with his gloved fingers. "I should have been more specific in my note. I did go out for breakfast, but I also ran some other errands since I thought you'd sleep in late like usual."

Yuri laughed again, but it sounded more natural this time. "Jetlag," he informed the other, pulling Victor even closer.

"Ah, that makes sense." There was a short pause while he recalled the rest of Yuri's explanation. "Why didn't you text me with the Wi-Fi?"

"You never gave me the password."

"I didn't?"

"You didn't."

Victor sighed against him. "I should have. I'm sorry."

Yuri vaguely recognized that his breathing had evened out somewhere along the way. "No, I'm sorry. I overreacted."

Victor pulled Yuri back by his shoulders in order to look him in the eyes. "You didn't overreact. Anyone would have been scared in that situation." He smiled warmly, running his thumbs lightly over the other. "Besides, look at it this way: You got your 'move to Russia' anxiety attack out of way. Now, you have nothing to be scared of."

Yuri reached up and wiped the remaining moisture from his face. That wasn't how anxiety worked. He knew it. Victor knew it. But it was a nice thought regardless, and he was willing to play along. "I guess you're right."

Victor suddenly blinked at him, as though seeing him clearly for the first time. "Is that my jacket?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." Yuri pulled it closer defensively. "I'm not taking it off."

Victor would do no such thing. He couldn't—not when it looked made for Yuri. "You can keep it. But I have one rule if you do."

Yuri tensed. "And what's that?"

Victor leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "No crying in it. It ruins how good you look. I can't appreciate it properly if you look upset."

Yuri sniffled. "Selfish."

"That's the rule. Take it or leave it."

The younger man pulled it around him tighter with both hands. "I'll take it."

"Excellent." He kissed him again. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Well then—" Victor stood and offered his hand. "—shall we?" He said it like he was asking Yuri to grant him a dance at an extravagant ball, knowing full well that the only thing awaiting them was simple pastries.

"Yes." Yuri took Victor's hand, their rings shining together as they briefly brushed each other. "We shall."

 _Author's Note:_

 _*1: Victor's name in Russian._

 _*2: "Okaeri," meaning "welcome back"/"welcome home" in Japanese._

 _*3: Again, a nickname in Russian meaning "sunshine."_

 _I think I will write one more chapter for this and call it a fic. I reeeaaallllly want to write about the banquet-the second one that episode twelve skipped. So, look forward to that._

 _Also, I just remembered that I can reply to comments...? Yeah, sorry about that. I haven't written fanfiction in a while, so I kinda forgot. From now on, I'll be replying to comments._


	6. Missing Scene from Episode 12

_Author's Note: IT'S HERE._

 _I had to wait until I finished finals, but it's finally here. This will be the last chapter of this fic. Don't worry; I have more ideas coming. Thanks for reading up until this point._

 _I JUST REALLY NEEDED CLOSURE FOR THE SECOND BANQUET, ALL RIGHT?_

Yuri was currently experiencing the strongest sense of déjà vu.

It was the banquet hall—definitely the banquet hall.

He tried to fight down a bout of intense secondhand embarrassment by looking over to his side to soak in the sight of his fiancé. Armed to the teeth in an Armani suit that probably cost more than a term of Yuri's college tuition, Victor certainly did make a worthy distraction. Yuri's gaze lowered, and he grounded himself on the engagement ring Yuri had personally placed there, gleaming softly in the warm chandelier light.

"That's too sober a look for an occasion like this," Christophe cut through Yuri's thoughts, pushing flutes of champagne into his and Victor's hands. The older man paused, imparting an appraising stare onto Yuri when he didn't immediately lift the glass to his lips. "You will be drinking tonight, won't you, Yuri? This party will be terribly boring if you don't help me spice it up."

Despite himself, Yuri giggled. He finally took a sip to placate his fellow skater. "I'll drink—but just a little. No poledancing this year."

Christophe held a hand to his heart and released a long-suffering sigh. "You wound me. I've been looking forward to this all year, and you're going to take it away from me like it's nothing?"

Yuri laughed again, but this time, it was somehow even more nervous. "I somehow managed to not completely destroy my career last time. I don't want to tempt fate twice." His eyes flittered to the side, subtlety scanning the room. "Besides, Phichit is lurking around here somewhere. I don't want to end up on Instagram under some embarrassing hashtag."

Victor chuckled at that. He lifted his thus far untouched champagne flute to his mouth and imparted into it, "Hashtag gold medal in drinking?"

"Hashtag gold medal in _poledancing_ ," Chris countered.

"Hashtag spicy katsudon."

"Hashtag thighs that could crush mountains."

"Hashtag—"

"Hashtag I'll be putting the pain in champagne if you two don't shut up," Yuri intercepted, leveling them each with a personalized but equally threatening glare. "Honestly... I'm right here, you know."

"That's too long for a hashtag," Chris teased, not missing a beat. "Why don't you leave this to the professionals, Yuri?"

"Excuse me for being concerned with my image," Yuri griped into the bottom of his now empty glass.

"You're excused," Christophe quipped, batting his long eyelashes in mock innocence. "Shall I get you more champagne?"

Yuri sighed, disappointed somewhat in his inability to fight off his old coping habits. "No, thank you. I want a different drink anyway."

"Cheating on champagne tonight?" Victor murmured good-naturedly, taking a pointed sip of his own drink.

"Too many memories." Yuri scrunched up his nose, gripping the flute a touch tighter. "Maybe I'll find a nice Merlot."

"Well, looks like you have your objective for the night," Chris observed, but his tone was already far away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to go find my own…"

Victor couldn't hide a smile as he watched his friend stalk away on a clearly defined mission. "I'd bet anything right now," he spoke in the lull of Chris's absence, "that he's off to find his boyfriend."

Yuri winced, snapping his attention away from Chris's receding figure. "Do you think he'll be okay—Chris's boyfriend, I mean? He seems like a fairly private person."

"Relax, love." Victor draped an arm over the other, drawing him close. "Chris knows where the line is."

"I know…" Yuri tried to groan, but it sounded more fond than exasperated. "I know, but I worry."

Victor pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know you do." Feeling a bit more ambitious, he tried to steal a kiss from his fiancé's lips—only to be thwarted by a finger pressed to his face. "Yuri…?"

Yuri jumped like he hadn't quite thought this all the way through, startled to see his own finger barring Victor from granting him from further affection. Then, something like determination speared through him, eyes alight with it for the faintest of moments. Refusing to move his hand from its perch upon the other man's lips, Yuri leaned in, almost drinking in the taste of Victor's skin beside his ear. "Sorry, Victor," he murmured in a tone that implied everything but remorse. "But I only kiss gold."

And with that, Eros wandered off, leaving a thousand broken hearts in his wake.

-transition-

Phichit found Yuri nursing a glass of Merlot, swirling it with quaking hands, eyes skittering back and forth with bountiful nervous tension.

"Banquet got you riled up again?" Phichit guessed, leaning on the refreshments table next to his best friend and procuring a drink of his own. "Where's Victor? I thought for sure he'd be by your side all night."

Yuri lifted the drink, downing it back like a shot. "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, Phichit. Oh my god, I _fucked up._ "

"Yuri, you're spiraling." Phichit didn't have to know the situation to see that. He pried the glass away from Yuri and held up his fingers with his other hand. "Breathe with me, Yuri. One…" Slowly, he curled his thumb inward, signifying the slow inhale and exhale he wanted Yuri to complete. Luckily, the man complied, emulating Phichit with shaky but sure breaths. "Two…"

By the time he'd gotten to five, Yuri had visibly relaxed in the shoulders. "Better?"

"Better," Yuri confirmed, taking a few more deep breaths for good measure.

"All right then." Phichit shifted his drink back into his hands, striking what was hopefully an open and non-judgmental pose. "Now, tell me how you 'fucked up.'"

"Oh my god." Yuri covered his eyes with his hands wearily. "Victor must hate me."

"Yuri, I am one hundred percent sure Victor does not hate you." Despite himself, Phichit couldn't hold back a smirk. "The man is positively enraptured by you. I'm sure whatever you think you did is only bad in your own mind."

This didn't seem to persuade his friend. "I wish. _I wish._ How could I say that to him, Phichit? _Why_ did I say that to him? I don't know what came over me—"

"Yuri, I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened," Phichit intervened, seeing that the other was quickly working himself up again.

Yuri dropped his hands. "I—after the medal ceremony—Victor was teasing me. He was teasing me about the silver—said he'd only kiss gold. Then, he asked me if I could name something else he could kiss—something that would excite him. I… I think it was an innuendo…? I don't know, Phichit—you know I'm bad at that stuff. At the time, I took it very literally, but looking back…" He nibbled at his lower lip, recalling the moment. "Anyway, just a few minutes ago, Victor leaned in to kiss me, and I—I have no idea why I did it, but I stopped him, and—" He was practically biting a hole through his lip at this point. "—I repeated it—what he said before. I told him, 'I only kiss gold' and just… _left_ him there. I can't believe I did that. He… He must hate me, right? Right?"

Phichit gaped at his friend. There was a lot to deconstruct there, but the take-away was obvious. "Yuri…" There was almost a sense of reverence in his voice, but Yuri missed it entirely.

"I know… I _know_!" Yuri pushed his bangs back, fingers twisting around the locks in frustration. "How could I do something like that?"

Phichit shook himself out of his stupor. "No, Yuri, you don't _get it_."

That made Yuri pause, eyes wide but unseeing to the truth right in front of him. "I… What?"

Phichit set his drink down more forcefully than intended, taking Yuri by both shoulders. He looked up into those big doe eyes, determined to get the next thing he said through to the man. "Yuri, you… I think you might be the most unknowingly suave man on the planet."

Yuri searched his best friend's eyes, not being able to focus on one before he was enviably drawn to the other. "I… don't get it…?"

"Of course you don't," Phichit muttered—mostly to himself. But he didn't let up, shaking Yuri a little to emphasize his point. "Yuri, you're suave as hell. That was some top-class flirting."

"It… It was?" Yuri looked disbelieving. "I wasn't trying to flirt…"

"Of course you weren't," Phichit retreaded, but it was louder and meant for Yuri this time. "That's what makes you such a force of nature. You don't _mean_ to make men throw themselves at you; you just _do._ "

"Phichit, I…" Yuri reached up and extracted the other's hands off of him, sighing deeply. "Look, I appreciate it," he said, genuine but resigned, "but there's no way that's true. Victor doesn't think that. He probably didn't see it as flirting. You really expect me to believe he's somewhere right now, lamenting to someone that I'm a cruel, heartless mistress, playing with his heart?"

-transition-

"He's a cruel, heartless mistress, playing with my heart."

Yurio scoffed, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "No one cares, old man."

"Yurio, you don't _understand_ ," Victor stressed between knocking back drinks like his life depended on it. "He's too powerful. He's the kind of beautiful men used to fight wars over. Helen of Troy wouldn't stand a chance against Yuri Katsuki."

Chris whistled from the other side of the table. "The man has it bad," he juxtaposed—mostly directing his comment at his boyfriend who was currently beside him.

"He's just being an idiot," Yurio grumbled—also directed at Chris's boyfriend as though all the skaters collectively felt the need to excuse Victor's behavior to the uninitiated. "Don't pay too much attention to him."

"Yuuurrriiiooo," Victor groaned into the bottom of another shot, "don't be mean."

Yurio merely "tch'd" at him, subtly pushing the other drinks away out of arm's reach.

Victor dropped his head down on the table, softly groaning. "How many was that, Chris? It felt like a lot."

"Mmm…" Christophe considered. He slinked his arm around his boyfriend's waist as though it would help him concentrate. "I lost track. Five? Maybe six?"

"It's enough," Yurio barked, giving the drinks another heated push away for good measure.

Chris chuckled. "For once, I agree with the kid. That should be more than enough to win your man back."

"What do you mean?" Victor inquired thickly into the tablecloth.

"I mean," Christophe clarified, "you've got your liquid courage. So, get up and go find Yuri. Fight fire with fire. Go seduce him and make him eat his words."

"You're a fucking enabler," Yurio hissed, venom dripping from his tone. "And don't call me 'kid,' fifth place."

Chris deliberately ignored this, refusing to spare another glance at the "Grand Prix champion" as he had so rudely reminded. "Victor, what are you waiting for? Go win him back."

"You're right. You're _right_." Victor pushed himself up from the table and into a standing position, both hands braced on the flat surface because he was resolute in his decision and definitely not because the room was spinning a little. "I'm gonna go find him."

"More like you're gonna go make an ass out of yourself," Yurio argued. "Look at you, Nikiforov. You're drunk."

"I'm Russian," Victor stated in a way that undoubtedly held immeasurable meaning in his own mind. "And I'm only mildly inebriated."

"That's just another word for drunk," Yurio growled, trying and failing to yank him back down. Victor, infuriatingly, stood firm.

"Yes, but it's _classy_ drunk," Victor insisted, slipping from the other's grasp. "Gonna go seduce my fiancé now," he excused, casting a departing wave over his shoulder.

"Atta boy," Chris praised, earning another glare from across the table.

"Quit encouraging him!" Contrary to his impassioned gripping, Yurio sat back further, tense but resigned. "You know what? Screw all of you. I don't even care anymore. Just know that I won't be picking up the pieces later when everything blows up in his face. In fact, forget this!" He pushed his chair back, the force of which scraping the floor with a high-pitched squeal. "I'm going to go find Otabek."

After adjusting his collar and receiving another knowing smirk from the older man, Yurio tramped off in the opposite direction, determined to put as much distance between him and the impending disaster that would inevitably befall Victor Nikiforov.

"They'll be okay, right?" Christophe's boyfriend questioned quietly in French, glancing left and right at the men as they disappeared into the crowd on separate but surprisingly similar missions.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, of course," Chris answered easily. "Eventually. In the meantime, it'll be quite entertaining."

-transition-

Yuri gripped yet another glass of wine in his hands. This one was not for drinking, said Phichit sternly. It was merely to give Yuri's hands something to do, which he was eternally grateful for. He hadn't been so twitchy and nervous in a long while, and if he didn't find a distraction quick, he feared the panic attack looming on the horizon would catch him in a vice grip.

He had talked briefly with JJ and Isabella, but the calm serenity he was trying to obtain and the force of JJ didn't exactly mesh together well, so he found himself before a table of food, falling back on his second most effective coping method: eating away his feelings.

Just as he was settling on something that would unequivocally ruin his diet, that unmistakable voice rang out.

"Yuuuuri~!"

"Huh? Victor? What—?"

As he turned to face the Victor, the man practically catapulted himself upon the other. Yuri's glass of wine was sacrificed immediately, becoming a causality along with the entire table of food before them. It buckled with their combined weight, a terrible crashing sound echoing throughout the hall.

It looked like Yurio had tried very hard to intervene at the last second, but he hadn't reached them in time, finding himself pushed aside on the floor next to the ruined table.

And yet, despite all this, Yuri felt the back of his head being cradled by Victor, dutifully protected even in the midst of his sneak attack.

"Found you~!" Victor sang, looking down at Yuri with all the devotion of a man deeply in love and all the shamelessness of a man hopelessly drunk.

"Victor…" Yuri glimpsed around, taking in the scene Victor had caused. Phichit was taking pictures. Chris looked amused. The rest of the room merely gawked, shell-shocked, and Yuri could hardly blame them. Finally, his eyes fell onto Yurio where he was currently being helped up by Otabek. "Yurio! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll live." Yurio groaned, rolling his shoulder. "I knew this would happen. I should have tied that idiot up and thrown him in the coat closet when I had the chance." He glared at them both for entirely different reasons. "Just keep him on a leash for the rest of the night, yeah? I will _not_ be jumping in to fix your guys' dumb mistakes again."

Yuri smiled wanly, warm and affectionate. "Duly noted, Yurio."

The hidden meaning of such words must have been lost in translation. "Good. Come on, Otabek." And with that, the two younger skaters left Yuri and Victor behind.

"Victor, we should…" Yuri swallowed thickly, realizing all the attention in the room was still solely on them. "We should probably get up."

"Great idea, Yuri!" Victor leaned down and rubbed his chin against Yuri's head like an affectionate cat. "You always have such great ideas. I love you so much~!"

Yuri had been fighting a blush up until that point, but with Victor's words, the floodgates opened. "O-oh, okay… Thank you, Victor… Let's get up now." He squirmed out of Victor's arms and pulled the other up, dusting bits of food off his and his fiancé's suits.

Victor grasped Yuri's wrist, halting his ministrations. The younger man looked up in surprise, meeting Victor's surprisingly steady gaze.

"Yuri, you like to dance, right?"

 _What kind of question is that?_ "Yes, I like to dance."

A lazy smile slid across Victor's features, giving Yuri the distinct idea that he had somehow fallen straight into a trap. "Oh, what a coincidence. I do as well. How interesting is that?"

"Victor…" Yuri shook his head, but he was smiling all the same. "We're professional figure skaters. It's hardly a coincidence. And it's not that interesting."

Victor chuckled, taking Yuri's hand and pulling his arm into first position. "Au contraire, my dear. I think it's very interesting. You can dance… I can dance… What do you think we should do about that, Yuri?"

Yuri giggled, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded. This was practically a scenario straight from twelve-year-old Yuri Katsuki's dreams. "Look, if you want to dance, let's dance. But we need to move to the dancefloor first."

"If you insist," Victor lilted, letting Yuri lead him away from the destruction he had caused just moments prior. Vaguely, he registered Yuri whispering to the hotel staff to "bill Victor Nikiforov for the property damage," but he was far too enamored with said man to be anything but perfectly content at the moment.

And then that wonderful man—the one that he was convinced was beauty incarnate—had his arms around him, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis as though it was exclusively subservient to Yuri Katsuki and his charms.

"What's that face for?" Yuri teased, nose crinkling in just the right way as he gently swayed them back and forth.

Victor didn't even consider playing coy; he felt bubbly and warm inside with both alcohol and love, and it left him unashamedly honest. "You. Just… everything about you."

"Then, you're… You're not mad about what I said earlier?" Yuri couldn't keep the tremble out of his tone, trying to cover up his unease by leading Victor into a spin.

Victor snapped himself out of the spin with a flick of a wrist and took Yuri's hands yet again, claiming the lead. "My love, I'm entirely lost as to what you mean." But Victor's eyes betrayed him, the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners. "Why would I ever be mad at you?"

Yuri visibly flustered but fell into the new dance pattern all the same through sheer muscle memory. "Because… Because of what I said about the gold—about only kissing gold. So, you're… You're not mad?"

Victor dipped Yuri, the inches between them shrinking exponentially until they were a hairsbreadth away. "Mad? Absolutely not. Smitten? Entirely."

To Victor's momentary dismay, Yuri leaned back even further into the dip until his head was nearly touching the tiled floor. "Ugh," he groaned. "I can't believe Phichit was right."

Relieved, Victor pulled his fiancé back up. "Oh? And what was Phichit right about?"

"Everything," Yuri supplied unhelpfully. "You. Me. All of this."

Somehow, the message managed to get through the minefield of Yuri's ambiguity and Victor's drunken haze unscathed. "I see," Victor surmised. "Phichit explained to you how utterly charming you are, didn't he? Remind me to thank him later."

"Will do," Yuri promised, finally relaxing fully into Victor's arms.

"So, then," Victor transitioned, bringing Yuri's hand up to his mouth and gracing his engagement ring with a kiss, "have you come around on me? Am I golden enough to kiss yet?"

Yuri laughed breathlessly. "Only if you consider me golden enough to kiss as well."

"I always have." Victor was suddenly struck with emotion, his throat thickening with it. "Ever since I laid eyes on you. Ever since that moment you asked me to be your coach, I've been yours."

"Victor…" Yuri said it in that winded way he sometimes did when the hero worship creeped back into him, awed with the man before him.

Victor took that as his cue to steal his name out of his beloved's mouth.

 _Author's Note: Aaaaaaaaand that's a wrap._

 _By the way, this chapter was based off official art (which I can't find at the moment, but if I do later, I'll link it.)_

 _Thanks again for reading._


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